why.

February 17, 1978.
My Dad waves to us at the bus stop. It is cold. Snowy. I am ten years old. Dom is seven. My Dad…thirty-six. He waves and smiles and then drives away in his brown station wagon to work. We wait for the bus to come. Standing. Shivering. Playing. Waiting.
The yellow school bus finally arrives and we jump in. the bus ride was uneventful. It always is. We arrive at school. Dad arrives at work. Crang and Boake. I don’t know where Mom is. Dad enters the office doors and sits at his desk. His drafting table. Mom…still don’t know. I sit in class thinking about the weekend ahead. Wishing I could go to my brother’s soccer practice with my Dad. But I can’t. Dom is not going so Dad is not going to drive all the way back to Unionville to pick me up. School ends. Work ends. Still don’t know where Mom is. Take the bus home. Sit in the back with Schuster, George, Jennings, and Booth. We yell, “Marge is an asshole. Marge is an asshole.” I don’t know why, but we did. Get off the bus with Dom. Go home. Mom was there. She took Dom to Andre Bohus’ birthday party. I don’t know where I went. Dad was at the soccer practice. Dom and Mom came home in about two hours. Dom and I ate pizza subs from Mr. Sub. Not sure what my Mom ate. Probably nothing. Never does. Finished the subs and went upstairs to playfight or pillowfight. I think pillowfight. Not sure who was winning. The room was small. Filled with two single beds. The door was closed. Soon it was open. My Mom standing there with Keith Mingham. Scared. Frightened. Terrified. “There’s been an accident,” Keith said. “Get your stuff,” Mom said. “We’ll drop you at the Vine’s house,” she continued. “Who?” I asked. “Who’s been in the accident?” “Your Dad,” Keith replied. “Is it a broken leg?” I asked. “Yeah, something like that,” Keith replied once again. So Dom and I rushed and got our stuff together to go to the Vine’s house. Keith and my Mom in the front seat. Dom and I in the back. Not sure what kind of car. I think a small green station wagon. Don’t remember the ride to the Vine’s house. When we got there Dom and I went in. Gerry Vine was there. He looked concerned as he briefly spoke with my Mom and Keith. I sensed there was something more serious with my Dad than a broken leg. Keith and my Mom drove away. Fast. Scared. Silent. Dom and I played hockey at the Vine’s house. Only Gerry was there. Waiting for his wife and kids to get home. Don’t remember if they came home. The phone ringing. Gerry answering. Quietly saying, “NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” That’s when I knew my Dad had died. The night went on. Not sure if Gerry’s kids came home. I asked Gerry if he had heard any news on my Dad but he said, “No…not yet.” I knew he was lying but I don’t blame him. I don’t think it was up to him to tell me that the most important person in the whole world to me had just died. Devastated. Not Gerry’s job.
The night went on. Dom and I in Steve’s room. Gerry’s son. Steve not there. Dom and I lying down. Not sleeping. Tossing. Turning. Thinking. Thinking about Dad. Scared. Terrified. “Staying Alive” by the Bee Gees playing on the radio. Hoping. Praying. I believed back then. Praying. Hoping. Dad still alive. Darkness in the room. Dom sleeping. Not knowing. Too young. Me? Still tossing. Eyes open. Thinking. And thinking. And thinking. The next morning arrives. Still at the Vine’s. still no Mom. Still no Dad. Still not sure about Gerry’s kids. They might have been there. We ate Toasted Western sandwiches with ketchup. Played ball hockey. I was the goalie. We had fun. Not knowing what had happened to Dad. To Mom. Nora Vine, Gerry’s wife, came into the basement and told us it was time to go. Go to our Uncle Mac’s and Auntie Marion’s. “HOPE DAD IS ALIVE,” was my only thought. We got dressed once again and went into Nora`s silver Mustang. The ride was quiet. Very quiet. Unusual. Scared. Lonely. Do not remember the drive. My memory not good. We arrived at Uncle Mac’s and Auntie Marion’s grey townhouse. The corner one. We got out of the Mustang and proceeded to the house. We rang the doorbell and waited. The door opened. It was Auntie Marion. Her eyes were watery. Red. She opened the door widely and we slowly walked in. I looked into the living room and saw my Mom sitting on the big chair with her white and blue housecoat on. Tears flowing down her small face uncontrollably. She couldn’t stop. I started bawling. Ran to my Mom. Put my arms around her. “Where’s Dad? Where’s Dad?” I screamed. She cried more. Squeezed me harder. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. “Where’s Dad?” screaming louder. Crying. Stalling. Pausing. Auntie Marion interjected. “Your Dad has had an accident Chris.” She said it softly. Crying herself. “He didn’t make it.” “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” I screamed. Looked around. Lost. Hurt. Shaking. Sobbing. Snot flowing. “NOOOOOOOOOO.” I continued. “WHY??? WHY??? WHY??? WHAT HAPPENED???” I continued to scream. Everyone crying still. Trying to hold me. Me still shaking. “It’s going to be okay Chris,” Auntie Marion replied. I kept crying…and crying…and crying. Holding my Mom. Not sure what Dom was doing. A household of tears. Still not letting go of my Mom. Kleenex. Kleenex. And more kleenex. Max Webster album. We walked downstairs. Mrs. Vine. Auntie Marion. My cousin Nicole. Not sure where my Mom was. Alone. Lost. Sad. Devastated. Distraught. Scared. Terrified.
Downstairs. Still crying. And crying. And crying. People trying to cheer me up. Trying to make me laugh. Not working. “DAD??? WHERE ARE YOU???”
I wanted to see him. Wanted to hold him. Wanted to save him. Wanted to touch him. Wanted to hug him. Wanted to kiss him. DAD? DAD? DAD?
Mrs. Vine leaves…I think. Mom still in white and blue housecoat. Crying. Missing. Remembering. The grey townhouse on the corner. Friday February 17, 1978. Mr. Subs. Pizza Subs. Keith Mingham. “Staying Alive”. The phonecall to Gerry Vine. “NOOOOOOOOOOOO”. Toasted Western sandwiches. Ball hockey. Mrs. Vine`s grey Mustang. The doorbell. Auntie Marion. And finally Mom. Mom in her blue and white housecoat in the middle of the living room. Sitting on the big chair. Curled up and bawling. WHY.? I have always wondered WHY. Why did my Dad have to die? Why so young? Why did he die the way he did? Why didn`t I stop him from going to that soccer practice? And finally, why didn`t I get a chance to say “GOOD-BYE”?
I MISS YOU SO MUCH DAD. WHY???