Thursday, May 8, 2014

I got a call this morning ....

March 6, 2014.

I was sick for two days. Woke up on Monday midnight with a fever and chills. Spent two days in bed. Scrolling documentaries on Netflix.

Thursday morning, the 6th, I got up feeling better.  It was my one month anniversary at a new job, and I was way behind on my duties.   I walked to work and let myself into the shared office space where my company, a little startup, had some desks. No-one else was in.  It was cold outside but the view to the North Shore mountains was gorgeous and clear. Snowcovered.

My phone rang and I saw that it was Nory W, my parent's neighbour.  It was 8:15 in the morning.   Nory called me now and again, maybe with a question about her iPad, or saying she was coming into town and did I want to get together.  But it was pretty rare. I answered.

She asked me if I'd heard from "the house".  Meaning: my parent's house.

No, I hadn't.

"Well", she said:  "I don't know how to say this, but Bob's gone. He's passed away."

Things got a little numb and foggy from there.  In the next two hours, I got a lot accomplished: First, I called my wife, called my sister, called my Dad's brother, called my Mum - who was confused of course, spoke to Nory's husband Jeff who was sitting with my Mum, spoke to the RCMP officer, called some of Dad's friends, booked a flight to Calgary, spoke Johnny and Diane and Don, and got on that flight.  Wrote a bunch of documents. Wifey had driven me to the airport in a fog.

All I could think about was: What the fuck are we going to do with Mum?

And then I arrived at the house. And it all began.

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