Forgive me, this is about death. I don’t really know anyone here but I just want to write this down and just kind of put something … out there. I’m fine, everthing is fine. Okay.
I have to write this down because it’s one of the stranger experiences. Earlier, I saw an NHS car pull up outside but, because of the angle of the window, couldn’t see right down to the entrance itself. A few minutes later the phone rang. It was my aunt. She primed me a little with her tears and “I don’t know what to say …” My father had died. I liked him but we weren’t close and I’ve been estranged from my mother for more than 20 years. Still, it’s your father.
After putting down the phone I stared out of the window for a while; a blue-sirened ambulance raced past before turning around. Someone directed it to the entrance below. I got up and looked. A man was spread-eagled a floor below, just by the entrance. He was a very large man and his white stomach had been exposed to the sky so they could work on him. Another NHS car came along. In time, another came, then another ambulance. And another ambulance, the latter interspersed with police cars.
As I watched the scene, my mind went back and forth between what was happening outside and the news my Aunt had given me. An hour passed and they were still working on the man’s chest. I went down to the lobby where a couple of other residents watched. Police told us what had happened: he came back and they lost him again, came back and they lost him again, came back and they lost him again. The paramedics took turns and their efforts went into the second hour.
My father had been crossing the road, my aunt said, on Sunday lunchtime. He was hit by a car, the helicopter ambulance came, whisked him to emergency care but he died a little later on Sunday. I get up and look below. The man has gone. All the ambulances remain so I assume he is the back of one. Paramedics are picking up their kit, police are milling.
If he survived it’ll will really be something but I don’t want to ask, or even know. Not today. There’s been enough death for one day. I need to reflect on my father.
That is a surreal coincidence, Boom!. I’m sorry to hear about your father.
I’m in the coffee shop of a hospital, where my father is a patient, and just came from a discussion with the social worker about options for an “end-of-life” care home for him.
Northern Piper, I was just pondering how every discussion about the death of a parent seems a surreal experience. Perhaps it’s part of the coping mechanism. It’s portrayed in film often so it must be commonplace. I don’t feel as numb as I thought I might. Perhaps writing has been helpful today, I’ve done a lot of that. I hope you are coping.
I’m sorry for what you are going through. I find it surreal that my mom died, and it’s been five years and I loved her the most of anyone. I find it weird that it didn’t destroy me like I thought it would. I can imagine it’s even more complicated that it’s your father but you weren’t that close, but it’s your father!
Sincere condolences, BOOM!. I lost my dad about 18 months ago and, once in a while, I’ll still see something and think. “Hey, I should call dad! He’d get a kick out of this!.”
It took about 5 years before I finally stopped having that reaction. Then I see some guy on the street that looks a bunch like Dad did or would have had he gotten to that guy’s age.
BOOM!: It gets easier. It doesn’t go away, but it does become just another part of the scenery of your life. Some days in your near future will be easy, others not. Don’t stress about either kind.
My dad was killed last September by a distracted driver, and I still think the same thing. Especially when I see an old movie with lots of old cars. Dad loved classic cars.
BOOM, I’m sorry for your father’s loss. It’s a big hole left, it fills gradually though. But today I nearly started crying again, out of the blue. Take care of yourself. Do you have siblings to help?