I’ve noticed that a lot of mommy bloggers began their blogs as a fun way to chronicle their lives, then faced a personal struggle, and they wrote to get through hard times. I am fortunate that my children are healthy and I have (mostly) maintained my mental health as well. But there are 15 days of the year that just plain suck for me and right now I’m on day eight of those 15.
My dad died when Avery was 15 days old. He was 56 and seemingly healthy. He was watching TV and eating ice cream with his wife, suddenly felt sick, and then he died.
The first few weeks of every baby’s life are a blur. But Avery being my second child, I had things figured out. I tried to go to bed early so I would feel less exhausted from the middle of the night feedings. I went to bed before 10:00 p.m. and she woke up to eat again around midnight. Since she loved/loves to eat, she was done nursing quickly and I was going back to sleep when I heard what sounded like banging on our door. Then some smaller noises on our bedroom window. I was freaked out, but thought this would be a very strange way for someone to break in. Maybe something was going on with one of our neighbors and they needed help. I woke Chase, who grabbed a baseball bat and headed downstairs to check it out. I stayed upstairs with the baby and hovered near Clay’s room. I heard Chase talking to someone so I figured it was safe for me to venture downstairs. I saw my friend Amber at the door. She was eight months pregnant and in her pajamas. My first thought was something happened with her unborn baby. But that didn’t make sense, why would she be here and not at the hospital? I think she was crying. Amber told Chase to take Avery. And told me to call my brother. I picked up my phone and noticed missed calls from my brother and my stepmom. I didn’t have time to speculate. When my brother Michael answered I was sitting next to the baby glider on my bedroom floor. I don’t remember much of the conversation, except the very clear words, “Dad died, Keri. He died.”
In 15 days, I went from celebrating the new life of my daughter, to the mourning the loss of my father. The 15 days between her birthday and the day he died now seem to go on forever. I just want it to be April 26, so I can go on with my life and pretend I’m okay, which I’ve been doing for a good two years now.