Have you ever heard of that TV show, Queen for a Day? I think it was from the 50's. Queen For a Day was a competition among women contestants usually, describing tragedies they had endured - family deaths, job loss, or serious illnesses. The audience would vote by applause, measured by a meter with a big needle - pretty demeaning if you were in the low range. The winner would usually get a washer-drier combination, a crown, roses, and a robe. She would walk down a ramp, tears streaming down her face, while the audience applauded and cried for her victory. It was the 50's version of today's Extreme Home Makeover show. Oh, I wouldn't win Queen for a Day if it were on today. There are so many people who have been through much more than I have. But, in my little middle class life, here in a smallish town bordering Pittsburgh, PA, I might get a 4 on the applause scale.
By January 1, 2005, the Biology department where I am a faculty member had been through a lot. We had experienced several deaths, mostly parents of faculty, and it had gotten to the point where people joked about being afraid of emails from the Dean. By the time our colleague Ed suddenly collapsed and died of a brain tumor, we were saying, "What next?" In July, the shop mechanic, Kevin died in a motorcycle v. bus accident in North Carolina. And, in early September, one of our recent graduates, one of my students, died of an aneurysm at the age of 24. The tragedies in my work collided with my family on October 25, 2005.
This was "The big one". My husband, and our departmental chairman, died suddenly … in the middle of the night … heart attack … when I was in Arizona doing research. My oldest son, only 19, was with his father that night, calling 911, trying to save him, and got the word at the hospital that his dad had died, with me 2000 miles away. My little boy did my job that night. Then, he made the call to me at 3:00 AM, the only words, "Mom, Dad died." I remember standing there in my underwear, screaming. My three children, ages 19, 16, and 13 were all home at the time. Luckily the youngest didn't wake up. All this part of a jumble of thoughts I have - the airport, talking to the doctor from the hospital, talking with my seatmate on the plane. She said the worst thing about losing your spouse is not having anyone to talk to, I remember. I arrived home at 3:00 PM the next afternoon.
One of my most enduring memories of this time was how quiet the house was during those first months. There was no talking, almost none at all. The sounds that a house usually made weren't even there. It was just a gigantic silent emptiness. Not being religious, I had no comfort that he was watching over me; it was simply that he was no more. He was there, smiling one minute, and gone the next.
I think my daughter's writings, from a high school writing assignment and later used in college essays, expresses the feelings that a child has on the death of a parent. Again, the quiet …
I sat motionless in the darkness of my bedroom as the enormity of my father’s death drifted into focus while silence echoed in my head. All I could do was gaze through the foggy air outside my window as the silhouettes of objects took shape in my backyard and feel a part of my life slip into the fog.
Fog continued to seep through my window into my mind. Then, who knows how much later, a beam of sunlight streaming over my roof began to awaken me and my world. The basketball hoop towering over the wooden picnic table emerged through the darkness. The silhouette of a single orange pumpkin appeared in the light, while the image of my father planting the seeds faded from view. The future forced itself on me with every breath, whether I wanted it or not.
That breaks my heart.
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