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.