What My Dad’s Sudden Death Taught Me About Grief

I had just walked into my apartment on a high after winning an intramural soccer game. Even better, my boyfriend was baking, something that never happened. I turned on some 1960s music and picked up my cat who was looking particularly cute and fluffy. We had moved to Seattle a few months prior and everything felt weirdly perfect and settled. My phone illuminated with a text from my mom. “You up?” Considering it was only 8:30 at night, it was a weird question. Why wouldn’t I be? I immediately picked up the phone and called her. It only took half a ring for her to pick up.

“Hi mom,” I said casually. “Candace?” She asked quietly, “I need to tell you something.” Her voice cracked. Within the two seconds leading up to her next sentence, I had thought of three possible scenarios: Someone had cancer, a family member was in the hospital, or my mom lost her job. Unfortunately, I was 0 for 3. “Dad died.” I felt nothing. I laughed and blurted, “That’s not a funny joke. What really happened?” My knees began to buckle. “It’s not a joke. Dad’s gone.”

I fell to the floor. For a moment it felt like time had stopped. My mind was outside my body. Then the screaming started, an animalistic noise I never even knew I could make. It felt like everything was collapsing around me. It didn’t make sense. How could this happen? My parents we just sending me…