My dad. My Hero.

On Thursday, October 30, I boarded a plane to Eugene, Oregon at 12:30 p.m. The plane landed safely and Jake was waiting to pick me up outside. I turned on my phone and it rang immediately. It was Jake. I was right in the middle of grabbing my bags from the over-head compartments and told him I would be right out. As soon as I hung up, my phone did the little ring that means you missed 13 calls. Then it started ringing again. It was my sister. I answered it. The conversation went something on these lines: 

Mandy: "Did you hear?"

Me: "No, what's up?"

Mandy: "Around 4:00 p.m. Pennsylvania time (1:00 p.m. Nevada time) Dad had a massive heart attack and passed away."

My phone volume was so loud that the guy in front of me turned around. I didn't notice anyone or anything else around me from leaving the aisle way on the plane to meeting Jacob in the front. I was numb. It didn't seem real. It hadn't set in. In my mind I kept thinking this was a dream or a test. A test to see how I would react. It wasn't. After making a million phone calls, Jake and I drove to Portland, flew to Chicago, and then flew to Pennsylvania. I'm tired of flying! So this is what happened: 

My dad was at his cabin with his cousin John. They had plans to go put up his hunting nest in some tree Thursday evening so they could hunt all day Friday and Saturday. He wasn't feeling good but insisted on getting it done. Originally he thought he had indigestion or heart burn. He took a Rolaid. Then he thought it was his gallbladder. John told him to rest. He was stubborn. He put on his boots and went out the door. John followed. As they were walking about 100 yards from the cabin my dad asked to stop and rest for a moment. John knew something was wrong. So when they stopped, my dad bent his knees to sit against the hill and continued to roll all the way back. He died immediately. John called 911 and performed CPR. The paramedics came immediately and took over. Nothing improved. He flat lined.

We were able to go to the place where he died. It was peaceful. It was beautiful. I couldn't imagine a better place to go. He was with the people he loved. He was in a place he loved. He was doing what he loved, hunting. It was so quick, we assume he didn't suffer. Although I don't want to face the fact that he's really gone, I know he is. Gone for a time. He was my dad. I love him and he knew it. I have no regrets. The last time I saw him I gave him a big hug and he told me he was proud of me. He came to soccer games. We went to Disneyland when I graduated high school. We went to the Dale Evans and Roy Rogers museum. He walked me down the aisle when I got married. We worked together. He took me to college and filled my refrigerator. He always encouraged me. He loved my husband. He counseled us. We knew everything. He was smart, educated, and had so much experience. He was funny. We joked and laughed. He taught us to be kind, loving, and giving. Oh, how I could go on. I know we will be together again. It just doesn't seem real.