In Loving Memory of my Dad. May 19, 1957 - July 11, 2015

*CW: traumatic injury/death*

The trees have grown taller, more lush. I can now sit with you under the comfort of their shade. I know you're always with me, but that feeling is amplified here. Why did you have to leave so soon? You had so much more life to live. You always put us first, provided for us, even when it meant putting yourself last. As I began to write, a hummingbird danced delicately at the flowers located directly above your headstone, a sign that you continue to be with me, even if it's not in the physical world.

Five years ago... oh the time, how have five years already passed, since the very best day - our first day riding at a real motocross track together - quickly became the very worst. I had returned to the truck to take a short break from riding. You immediately rode over to come check on me and make sure I was ok. I was, just was a little scared and riding beyond my ability, plus I wanted to grab my camera and get some pictures of you riding. You were having the time of your life. You said, "Ok buddy, I'm going to do a few more laps." "Looking good out there, dad. Love you."

As I went to grab my camera, I heard a younger rider yell "some guy wrecked". In a moment, the world came to a screeching halt as I could no longer hear the rumble of your CRF450. I jumped over the fence and ran as quickly as I could in clunky motocross boots. I came to find you face down in the dirt. My heart was instantly ripped from my chest as I tried to process what was happening. I screamed, not words, just guttural defeat. The blunt force of the trauma caused me to collapse and throw up almost immediately.

Other riders and the track manager helped to position you onto your back. I immediately wanted to start CPR, knowing that would be our only fighting chance. The track manager wouldn't let me, and no EMT or paramedic was on site at the track that day. So instead, I had to sit there and wait what felt like hours for the paramedics to arrive; helpless, alone. The track manager worried it was a neck injury, which is why he wouldn't let me perform potentially life-saving first aid measures, but I knew it was not.

By the time the paramedics arrived, I knew it was already too late, but I continued to pray for a miracle. But too much time had passed. They started CPR in an attempt to restart his heart and revive his lifeless body and stated, "this doesn't look good. It appears to be a massive cardiac event. If we go to the hospital..." I immediately cut them off, "NO! Not IF, WHEN, WHEN we go to the hospital," even though I knew my dad had been without oxygen for far too long at this point, but I still relentlessly believed that a miracle was possible.

In the midst of this catastrophic event, I also became the entity responsible for having to deliver the horrific news to my family, that my father, my sister's father, my mother's beloved husband, had suffered a massive heart attack. The weight of the task was enormous. It took hundreds of calls to reach my mom - she was at brunch and had her phone in her purse. I kept dialing and dialing, with no resolve. With every second that passed, I felt more and more alone, trapped in what felt like an episode of the Twilight Zone. I didn't even know the name of the restaurant she was at to call and get ahold of her there. As I continued to make calls and try to reach ANY member of my family, the ER doctors continued their attempt to revive my dad.

I sat in the emergency room, alone, with the exception of a crisis counselor who came to talk to me. The moment she introduced herself, I collapsed to the floor, because I knew then, that all hope was lost. Still in my moto gear, I lay there on the emergency room floor paralyzed with the weight of emotion that was suffocating me. More than an hour and a half later, my mom finally made it to the hospital. My aunt and uncle ended up driving to the restaurant where my mom was at because it was the only way to get ahold of her. That entire time, the doctors and nurses worked tirelessly, performing CPR for the duration, until my mom arrived. It was then they finally had to call off their efforts and pronounce my dad. Only hours earlier, we had been enjoying one of the best days ever. But our world was obliterated in a matter of seconds - sending a crack through the center of our family that may never be repaired. In an instant, we lost, what I truly believe, was the glue to our entire family. Nothing has been the same since.

The traumatic events of that day play out on repeat in many of the days in the five years since. An endless loop of trauma triggers that can cut me off at the knees. It wasn't just the grief of losing a parent unexpectedly - my dad, my buddy - that has changed me. No, it was the grief paired with the crushing weight of guilt for having to deliver the worst possible news, knowing that I wasn't allowed to even attempt CPR, and the trauma of watching my dad die in a devastatingly tragic accident. I don't know how I survived up until this point, truly. But I do know that I'm different now - how could I not be? The world is still hard to navigate, every single day, but I'm trying my best to make you proud. Like they say in Hamilton, we have no control who lives, who dies, who tells our story - and that's why I keep writing.

I love you, dad. I miss you, forever. I hate that you had to leave so soon. You were the best girl dad anyone could have ever asked for, truly. Thank you for watching over us from the other side. Five years - it has moved at the pace of a blink of an eye and an excruciating eternity all at once. <3

#RIPDad #RideInParadise #GoneTooSoon #SeeYouOnTheOtherSide