Chris stood still, his feet embedded in concrete. "Oh my god, you can't be serious?" He uttered. What kind of question had he just asked me? Yes, I was quite serious. My father had taken his own life and my world caved in on top of me.
When a person is in shock, and I do believe that I was in shock, you do one of two things.... you fall to the floor and refuse to acknowledge the circumstances for what they are, or you go into a high rush of adrenalin that hurls you past the insanity and forces you to focus on what absolutely must be done next. I had to call 911... that is what had to be done... that is why Chris had to leave with Emma... . I would protect her from the screaming sirens.... the police and firemen that come crashing in on suicide scenes...... she didn't need that nightmare floating through her dreams, that would be saved for me.
I ran down the flight of stairs to the neighbors apartment and frantically knocked on the door. "I need to use your phone, something is wrong with my father." My voice was shaking, my hand could barely dial the most important numbers in a time of crisis, but I managed. "911, how can I help you..." The voice replied. She was kind, but I found it difficult to explain to a stranger that I had just found your father dead in his bed? "There is something wrong with my father, he is not breathing, you must come quickly...." I got it out, and then the questions started flying. "Mama, how old is your father? When did you see him last? Does your father live alone? Does he have any medical conditions that medics will need to know about? Mama, are you alone? I will stay on the phone with you until the police arrives." She stopped asking questions. I was unable to answer her. I was choking back my emotions and fighting back tears of betrayal. All of a sudden I wanted to wake up and find myself back in Asheville.
Ironically the Rescue Squad Station is less than a block from my father's apartment, they would arrive in less than 2 minutes, and they did. Chris barely made it out of the driveway before the fire truck and ambulance were turning down Maple Street. I was standing by myself in the foyer to the right of the stairway. All medical personnel and police officers hit the steps two at a time and they ascended the stairs like sprinting Olympic athletes. I flipped open my cell phone and called Emma's Godmother, who lives across the street from us...."You have got to go over and meet Chris in our driveway and take Emma....Dad is dead.....you have got to help us......" I did not wait for a response, I just closed the phone.
While I stood alone, I made a second call. I had to decide which sister would hear the news first. I called my oldest sister, Liz. I knew she would be driving home from work, but I had to tell her that her father too, was dead. It was not pretty. Without realizing what I was saying I found myself screaming "Dad is dead and you have got to come help me." Imagine the shock that went through her body. "What are you talking about?" She asked. "We came home from Asheville this afternoon to find him dead in his bed." That was the truth, and right now she did not need to know about the note that was left, or the blood that was coming out of his mouth. "Please call Ellen, and tell her to come to our house a quickly as she can." I was not going to make another call, I could not make another call. "I will call Ellen, just hold on until we can get there." My sisters live approximately 1 hour to 1 hour and 15 minutes from me..... what a drive that was going to be.
The Officers were only in dad's apartment a few minutes before returning to join me. The labored effort it took for each one of them to descend the steps affirmed what I already knew. I broke the silence. "My father is dead isn't he?" Without words spoken, the Police Lieutenant walked towards me and as gently as if he were attempting to embrace a china doll, he wrapped his arms around me and I sobbed. "Mama, we are so sorry." After several minutes I pushed myself off of his chest, and with a quizzical look I asked a pretty crazy question, I say that because of the reaction that I received from each Officer. "Why is there dried blood on the cheek of my father?" I had made the awful assumption that my father had taken an overdose of prescriptions...... how silly of me to make this suicide clean.....oh, no that was not the case at all....."Mama, what exactly did you see when you found your father in bed?" The Lieutenant asked. "I attempted to get the lights to come on in the bedroom but they didn't. The only light illuminating the room was the little daylight left, so I only saw that my dad was not breathing and the blood on his cheek, and I ran back down the steps to call 911." I replied. Now who was going to step up to the plate and tell the already stunned daughter the ugly truth of the matter? The Fire Chief looked at each Officer, not sensing a volunteer in the crowd, he spoke as calmly as possible. "Your father shot himself in the head, the gun was lying beside the bed." I literally ran straight into the wall pounding it with both fist....... "This cannot be happening, this absolutely cannot be happening....... OH MY GOD !!!!!!!!!!!" I have no idea who came up and grabbed me, but they swayed back and forth gently saying "You have got to breath, you have got to calm down, or you will be going to the hospital." I did begin breathing, turned my body and pressed it against the wall for support, shook my head and stared at the ground. No one was speaking. What could anyone of these gentlemen say to me to stop my world from crumbling? "It might bring you a bit of comfort to know that your father had his bible and hymn book opened, photographs of children and grandchildren surrounding him." The Lieutenant commented. I did not respond with words, I only met his gaze and shook my head in agreement. I knew that he was only trying to help, but that is not what I needed to hear..........
Chris had walked back through the door, took one look at me, but chose not speak. "You will have to tell Chris what happened, I cannot do it." I said. After hearing the awful truth Chris closed his eyes stood and shook his head in disbelief. There wasn't a warm, supportive embrace shared under the circumstances. "You need to go home to Emma, she is hysterical. I will stay until the funeral home comes to get your dad." I protested. "This is my father, I am not leaving." Chris knew that he could not console Emma in the state that she was in, "Cathy, please go home to your baby." Those words got to me...... my baby....... my baby that would turn two years old in in eleven days.........
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