16-year 'Anniversary'

It started on a perfect night, well, actually morning.

When you work something of a swing shift, day and night are a little more subjective, and offers a little daylight to do things I like instead of following a tight routine.

Sixteen years ago today, the morning started as it ought, mostly, and ended in a way I couldn’t have described. The day went from an argument with my daughter to eight hours among inmates and a chapter that was difficult to accept. My 18-year-old daughter was in an accident and did not come home.

I’ve talked about this before in different formats. Why talk about it again, some might ask. The quick answer is loss changes your life, and we all face it at some point.

Death and loss are not new. They are as much a part of life as birth, but accepting the loss of someone close is never easy. Some situations are easier than others, but that doesn’t eliminate the pain, the grief, of not seeing that person walk through the door at the end of the day, call for a coffee, pointlessly debate politics or whatever the favorite memory is.

That night was hard, but just as difficult were the days to follow. We couldn’t help but walk by her bedroom, which in the hours and days after the accident was like ripping the band-aid off of a fresh cut. I remember the first Saturday morning finding my wife sitting on Jill’s bed holding some of her garments, debating if she should wash them as she typically would.

For me, I worked more, biked even more and honestly looked for the right time to be real. During that time, I found opportunities to invest my time in other people. I just couldn’t accept I was done being a parent, even if I did it vicariously.

I got involved in a mentoring program. Later I had an opportunity for a short-term mission trip. But were good, but also growing experiences. As I look back, there were times I decided when I would be transparent, let a little of myself be known to the student I was working with. Normal? Probably. Proper? Good question.

Missions opened up a different “Me.” I could spend the day mixing mortar, building brick walls and the evening meeting people.

I’ve told people one of the challenges with loss is the memories of experiences that hadn’t yet happened. Would our daughter go to college like she dreamed? Would she be a teacher, and later get married and have children? What would it be like to see her children running around the house, jumping on my lap while Jill corrals them like an overworked mother?

I can fantasize about this, but I have to keep them in the fiction novel.

In the 16 years, we have been recognized in weddings of young ladies who were her friends; once as part of the program and once as a “co-father of the bride.”

No, this isn’t a public therapy session. This is where in my transparency I urge families and parents to value every moment with your children, regardless of their age. From birth to retirement, they are still your children and goodbye always feels too early. It isn’t because we don’t know what waits for them (hopefully). It is because the human heart doesn’t want to let go of those it loves. So again, value each moment no matter how silly or even stressful. When they are memories, they all will be important.