we all, eventually die.
death comes no matter how hard we try to avoid it. it is sad for many but also peaceful for some and even exciting for a few.
i first dealt with death when my puppy dog was run over by a TTC bus back when i was eight years old. a young neighbour of ours asked if she could walk our dog and we agreed. she was a very kind and young girl who loved our dog, snoopy (why did we call him this name?). she had walked him many times before and always brought him back home with a smile. NOT THIS TIME. she arrived at our house in tears. she told us that she dropped the leash and snoopy ran. he ran fast. he ran towards the road and got crushed by the big bus. i never saw snoopy again. a bigger loss was soon to follow. february 17, 1978.
my brother and i were pillow fighting in our upstairs bedroom when keith mingham, my dad’s friend, and my mom opened our bedroom door and told us to get ready as we were going to the vine’s house (our friend’s) as our dad had been in an accident and was rushed to a hospital. the “H” hospital as i used to call it.
my mom looked scared. they dropped us off at the vine’s and then went off to the hospital.
all night i wondered about my dad.
what happened to him?
was it a car accident?
was it serious?
was it a broken leg?
dom and i were playing hockey in the vine’s basement when i heard the phone ring. i stopped playing and, quietly, tip toed upstairs to see if i could hear any news on my dad. i heard gerry vine (steve and tammy’s dad) answer the phone and after a few seconds utter the words, “NOOOOOOOOOOOO.” i knew right then that my dad had died. i asked mr. vine if he had heard anything yet and he said, “no. no. nothing yet.”
dom and i went to back to playing hockey. i was worried. i was scared.
a few hours later the whole vine family came home and still no news on my dad. we all chatted and we played some more hockey and then went to bed. still with no idea if my dad was dead or if he was alive. i couldn’t sleep. i tossed and turned all night. no dad. no mom.
was he okay?
the next morning nora (mrs. vine) woke us up and we had toasted western sandwiches for breakfast and then got dressed. she, then, drove us over to my uncle mac’s and auntie marion’s house.
“why were we going there? i wondered.
the drive was, unusually, quiet.
we arrived at their corner house and quietly and fearfully walked up to the front door. mrs. vine rang the bell and auntie marion opened the door. her eyes were red. we walked in and i saw my mom sitting down on the blue reclining chair in the living room. she had her blue and white housecoat on and she was bawling. there was no dad. i knew right then and there that my dad had died.
FEBRUARY 17, 1978.
a living room filled with tears and sorrow and tragedy.
my dad collapsed on the gym floor at cassandra public school while coaching my brother’s indoor soccer team. he had a brain hemorrhage. he was thirty-six years old.
my brother had a birthday party to go to that night so, luckily, he didn’t see it happen.
i used to go and help my dad but because dom had his party to go to my dad didn’t want to come all the way home to get me to go all the way back to don mills for the practice.
i am lucky i didn’t see it either.
my brother only felt the loss. only felt the pain.
i only felt the loss. only felt the pain.
my mom only felt the loss. felt the pain.
tommy moulsdale, the assistant coach and my dad’s good friend, felt it but also saw it. so did his kids, barry and ray.
trauma.
sirens.
panic.
fear.
loss.
a gym filled with 7 yr old kids witnessing their beloved coach collapsing and dying on the gym floor.
alone.
not one family member there to help.
LOSS.
LOVE.
i miss you dad.
FEBRUARY 17TH, 1978.
notanotherphony. 