Packing seemed to go in slow motion. Part of me wanted to scream at Brian to hurry and part of me knew we were a 5 hour drive away. Either make it or we wouldn't and the extra 15 minutes wouldn't make a difference.

In the car we drove in complete silence. Part of me kept thinking, This is ridiculous. Dad will be fine. Dad is always fine. He's like a cat that falls off the roof ever couple of years and everyone says he's probably a goner, but then there he is without a scratch on him.

Today was not one of those days. We weren't even half way there when my sister called my cell again.

"Did mom call you?" she said. Her voice was shaking and I knew she didn't have good news.
"No, no I haven't heard from her."
"Well, I need to tell you then that Dad is....He gone. Dad has passed away." She let out a slow sob."I'm so sorry," she said, "I'm just not used to saying that out loud."

I don't actually remember what I said next. Pretty sure that I told her I loved her and to sit tight, I'd be there soon. I hung up the phone and turned to Brian. His face was creased with concern. "Dad's gone," I said, "can we please pull over."

Brian apparently didn't quite get that when I said pull over I meant, "right this fucking second," and it was a good five minute of me starting to freak out before he finally took an off ramp. I got out of the car and gulped down fresh air; tears running down my cheeks. We were practically in the middle of no where, parked on the edge of a cornfield and an orchard. It was actually a stunningly beautiful spring day. Brian put his arms around me and we cried together.

When we got back in the car, we decided our rush was over and we needed to get food. Neither of us had eaten anything that day and we're both rather miserable bastards when our blood sugar is low. We stopped at a little restaurant in Cottage Grove called The Vintage Inn. I managed to eat some french toast I think.

Feeling slightly more like humans, we got back on the road south.

May 8th, 2012

3 days before my 32nd birthday, my father passed away. He was 73.

It wasn't exactly a surprise. My father had never taken very good care of himself and the older he got the more apparent the toll on his health it had taken. The past year he'd been suffering with congestive heart failure and had all but refused treatment. He seemed terrified that his next trip under the knife would be his last and his prediction was not wrong.

On May 7th, after being in and out of the hospital with stomach pains, he finally agreed to the gallbladder removal surgery the docs had been after him to get for months. I live about 4 hours way from my parents and I asked my mother if I should come down for the surgery but she said no. The doctors didn't think it was that big of deal and were sure he would be fine.

 So I didn't go because, ladies and gentlemen, my whole life my father has been like a cat. He's been in motorcycle accidents and explosions. He's ruptured arteries and nearly bled out more times than I can count. It seems since I was a little girl, every couple of years something crazy happens to my dad and I end up at the hospital telling him goodbye as he goes into surgery because the docs just aren't sure if he'll make it out of not. But every time dad has, not only survived, but sprung back with gusto. I can't tell you how many doctors I've heard marvel at how quickly dad heals and how much progress he's made so quickly. So when mom said that the doctors weren't concerned I figured things would be ok.

But when they opened up my father what they found was not a gallbladder in need of removal but a gut full of Cancer. His liver, pancreas, everything was just riddled with tumors.

The next morning I started getting texts from my sister. She had gone down the night before. She tends to be a little jumpier than I am when it comes to Dad's health, so she went ahead and took a few days off to be with him. At 1st her text we're a little confusing. She was asking about fax numbers for my HR department so the doctors could send documentation and I was like, "what are you getting at? Do I need to come down right away?"

 She seemed very hesitant to actually say it but as the morning went on my father health began to decline rapidly and her text became more urgent. Finally, at 11am, I decided it was time to go.

 My phone rang as I was running down the steps to my car. My sister told me she thought dad should hear my voice. Suddenly the seriousness of everything hit me like a ton of bricks. Dad couldn't talk but I told him I loved him and not to be scared and that I was on my way and he was going to be ok.

The whole way home I tried to call my husband but as he worked nights he was still sleeping. I kept hoping he's hear the phone and get up but no luck. My mind was going so crazy I didn't know what to do accept hit redial over and over again. When I got home I tried not to start screaming but I knew we had a matter of hours and I wanted to get on the road ASAP. I was nervous that my husband wouldn't be able to get out of work and come with me but he assured me he was coming with me no matter what.