Page 3 of Done Waiting

Nothing could have prepared me for what she told me. The news caused my entire world to collapse beneath my feet.

“Your dad… He’s been in a motorcycle accident.” Mom’s voice quivers and shakes with each word she says.

“Is he… Okay?” My stomach is rock hard as I wait for her answer, my intuition screaming he’s not.

“No, Maddie.” A loud sob escapes from her, sounding like a desperate plea to an unknown entity. “Your dad… didn’t make it.”

A loud buzzing is in my ears. Shaking my head frantically, I say, “No. That can’t be true.”

My mom’s voice is barely audible. “I wish it were, sweetheart.” Her voice cracks, and she’s silent for a few beats.

“No.No, no, no. He can’t be gone.” My voice raises higher and higher with each word I speak, my fingers clutching the phone so tightly they hurt. “Dad is too strong. He isn’t…” my voice trails off. Swallowing hard, grief wells up inside me, and my limbs start to shake. I hold my breath, hoping against hope she’ll tell me something different.

Anything other than what she just said.

“I’m sorry, Maddie. Your dad… He’s dead.” Mom barely gets the words out. It’s as though she lacks the strength to speak and saying those words has depleted her energy as she quietly sobs on the other end of the phone.

My legs tremble beneath my weight.No, this can’t be. Not my dad.

Stumbling to the kitchen on my left, I barely make it before my legs give out completely, my back sliding down the wall as I fall. I hit the hard wooden floor with a loud thump, a momentary pain in my ass before it fades.

And like a dam, I break.

Leaning my head back, I stare at a vacant spot on the ceiling, tears coursing down my face. My body shakes uncontrollably, my insides torn apart by the grief that barrels over me.

“Mom, I can’t…” I mutter, and then I end the call, unable to say another word.

Pulling my legs up to my chest, I drop my forehead to my knees and wail, unleashing all the agony that erupts from deep inside me. It burns as though my soul is on fire.

My dad is dead.

I’m heartbroken… And pissed.

What kind of world do I live in where a man who strives to do his best every single day, who spends his days fighting for justice, who is one of the nicest, most honorable men I’ve known, would be taken away from those who love and need him?

How is the world fair when a man, who firmly believes in the power of good and when he believes in someone, fights every single day to get them the help they need, yet in the blink of an eye, his life is over?

The screaming siren of an ambulance blares on the streets outside my apartment windows, the flashing lights turning the white walls the same shade of red as the roses on the rosebush my father planted for me in the backyard of my childhood home. The noise pierces my ears, matching the screams that erupt from me. I give into the grief, letting loose. Throwing my head back, my howls resemble a wounded dog returning from a fight to defend her puppies, only to find them slain.

My hands ball into fists, and I pound them against my thighs, not caring if I’m hurting myself. I can’t feel it over the intense grief that careens through me like an ocean wave, slamming me against the sand, and making me dizzy. I’m lost to my anguish, losing track of time.

The next thing I remember, hands grip my arms, tugging me from my thoughts. I finally stop screaming when I realize Ben is crouched in front of me, shaking me. He looks puzzled by my behavior. Chloe is on the other side of me, her wide, frightened eyes roaming over my face, then down my torso and legs, trying to determine what’s wrong with me.

I look from Ben to Chloe, barely seeing them. My voice is hoarse as I say, “My dad is dead.”

Ben and Chloe are silent, their faces pale, their eyes hollow. Like they don’t know what to do or how to help me.

There’s nothing they can do. There’s nothing anyone can do to shake the hold my grief has on me.

Ben shifts his weight, his elbow bumping into my side, snapping me back to reality. He mumbles an apology. I glance up at him, nodding, as though it’s okay. But nothing is okay.

Ben heaves out a sigh, giving me a quick smile, then turns his attention to the minister. He grabs my hand, gently squeezing it, offering his support, but I’m numb to it.

The minister’s monotone voice drones on, flowing over the mourners gathered around my dad’s gravesite, a tent over his casket, shielding us from the bright sun.

Why is the sun shining so brightly, not a cloud in the damn sky, on the darkest day of my life?My hands clench into fists, pissed at the weather.

It should be a gray and gloomy day, fog blanketing the cemetery while a light mist coats everything around me.It would certainly match my morose mood.

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