Acceptance

October 20th at around 2100 was without doubt the worst moment in my life.

I had gotten home from a fourteen day tour in southern Louisiana where I work as a paramedic. I had spoken with Dad the day before and he was cheerful as usual. His usual self. We talked about Mom. We talked about the weather and the happenings back home. "Same ol', same ol'" he always said. After about twenty minutes the phone was passed to Mom like usual. That was the last chance I'd have to speak with him; I had no clue.

On the 20th around 2000 I had arrived home and began to unpack for fourteen days of relaxation before my next tour. I was sitting on the couch watching TV when "Home" showed up on my caller ID. It was unusual to have a call from home at this hour but I wasn't even close to prepared for what I was about to hear. Mom's voice was strained and I could tell something was wrong. I thought Dad may have been sick but that wasn't unusual those days. He'd been sick for a number of years. The smoking, drinking, diabetes, congestive heart failure, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) and overall failure to care for himself was slowly catching up with him.

"Dad died." I froze. I couldn't move or say anything. I'm sure if someone were there, watching me, they would have seen the life drain from my body. I lost it and broke out crying. Mom cried. We were alone now. 2000 miles away my family had fallen into disarray and I couldn't be there to help. The phone call lasted 45 seconds. I had to schedule a flight home immediately.

After scheduling my flight and rental car I sat on the floor and cried. I'm not sure for how long. I was numb. I didn't know what to do. Immediately I started texting anyone I knew would listen. I felt alone.

For the longest time I was hard on Dad. I always hated that he smoked and told him regularly. I knew he was only going to hurt himself and that it would shorten the time I had with him. I didn't see him for nearly two years before he died and I will always deal with that fact.

Today I finally think I have accepted his death and moved forward. We all have vices - things that make us happy but may not be the best for us in the long run. Dad's was smoking. Before he died I would have told him to quit smoking, selfishly. But today, I would do no such thing. He died a happy, fulfilled man. He provided for a family the best he knew how. The day before he died he was happy. I could hear his smile through the phone. How could I ask him to give up something he loved so much?

And with that, Dad. I miss you. I always will. You taught me all you could and you did it until the day you died. I love you. Rest in peace.