My Dad’s Death and the Chaotic Early Stages of Grief
The end of ordinary life as I knew it.
I sat in my parent’s bedroom. It was deathly silent apart from clocks ticking — 6 of them, to be precise. All at different, maddening intervals. My mind was in a tormented spiral, and the out-of-synch clocks seemed to reflect the chaos.
Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick.
I looked after our dog Wags, and even he wanted to escape. But important work was going on outside the room. My dad lay dead on the floor, and the paramedics and police went through their procedures.
The phone call that changed the world.
Before this devastation, I was sitting at home, about to eat a Chinese takeaway. Life was plodding along. My dad had been ill with heart disease for some time, but I had no reason to think today would be THE day.
I heard my girlfriend Amy’s phone ring, followed by the panicked words, “Oh no.” I jumped up, expecting to hear there had been a setback and my dad had gone to the hospital. The reality hit me like a sledgehammer.
“He’s dead,” Amy told me. I couldn’t speak or even close my mouth. My legs buckled with shock.
My dad had been to the hospital several times before. I thought I’d prepared for his…
