Chris' story | Lindy's story | Ed's story

As soon as she heard her aunt’s trembling voice on the phone, she knew something was wrong. Her aunt struggled to get the words out that her brother — Anderson’s dad — was gone.

Anderson’s dad died at home — alone — presumably of a heart attack. He had suffered from heart problems for years. He had three heart attacks already.

Anderson had pondered before how she might respond: “What would I do if someone close to me died?”

She thought memories and emotions would race through her head.

Instead, there was nothing. She was numb.

“You just, you can’t prepare for it,” she said. “You really feel like your world just ended.”

As if her dad dying wasn’t enough, it was the week of midterms. She had three tests to take. At least they’d keep her mind off of everything. Well, maybe.

Her classmates could tell something was wrong. Her face and eyes were red from crying. They could tell something was up.

She wasn’t herself.

The drive from Lawrence to Lenexa on K-10 seemed to take forever.

Once she got home, she walked into an empty house. She would stay in the house alone for three days and nights.

Because her dad hadn’t planned a funeral and didn’t have a will, Anderson made almost all of the arrangements.

She found a place for the funeral.

She designed the memorial pamphlet that would be handed out at the funeral.

She called relatives and friends.

She took money out of her own savings account to pay for the funeral.

She considered hiring a lawyer to deal with her dad’s estate, but ended up declining because she couldn’t handle the expense.

She faced hard decisions, made more difficult by her grief.

She couldn’t help but think that a 19-year-old shouldn’t have to plan her father’s funeral.

Anderson endured the worst three nights of her life. She spent three days at home in Lenexa — alone — working to prepare for the funeral. She would scream and yell, angry at the world. She would beg for her dad to come back. She would try to sleep, but instead lay awake thinking of her dad.

But now, she surveyed the foyer of the funeral home, more nervous than she’d ever been in her life. Tears streamed down her face as she tried to gather the courage to see her father one more time before his body was cremated.

She walked into the room where her dad’s body lay on a table in front of the room, a handmade quilt covering his body from the chest down. She wondered where the quilt had come from. It looked like something a grandmother would make, she thought.

The floral smell of potpourri filled the room. Since her dad would be cremated, he didn’t need a casket.

It didn’t seem like him. Sure, it was him, but it wasn’t him.

Anderson’s half-sister, Kristy, and niece and nephew stood at her father’s feet. She could see the grief in their eyes. She was impressed with how brave her niece and nephew were.

She could see how the services provided closure for the rest of her family. But for her, closure hadn’t come since she received the phone call several days earlier from her aunt.

Even now, when she thinks of her dad, she sees his body lying on that table.

It’s times like that when his death feels too fresh — even overwhelming.

She thinks about how she slowly drifted apart from her dad after her parents divorced. Growing up, the selfish part of her resented her dad for always being sick. The other part, when she was younger at least, secretly hoped that her parents would work things out and get back together.

Even when she was in college, she’d find herself trying to hang up the phone before she had to say “I love you.” The day before her dad died, she talked to him on the phone. That time, the last time, she said “I love you,” and that was rare. Now, she cherishes the moment.

Despite the volatile relationship she had with her dad, they shared a special relationship. When events, both good and bad, happen in Anderson’s life, she often still finds herself thinking she needs to tell him.

When she starts thinking about him, she hates talking about it. She’s heard countless friends and family recite the cliché: “If you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

But she doesn’t want to talk to anyone. She doesn’t want to make them uncomfortable. She feels she has to be alone with those thoughts and memories.

She likes to sort through her memory box, filled with pictures, cards, and an old, but fragrant cigar from his collection. Certain things trigger memories of him — like cigar smoke, of course, and Bob Seger songs. The last time “Against the Wind” came on the radio in her car, she started tearing up. Those are the good memories. That’s why she sifts through the memory box — to remember the good times.

Whenever Anderson goes to visit her half-sister, Kristy, she’s constantly reminded of her dad. Family is bound to make you remember lost loved ones, especially now that Kristy lives in their dad’s house in Olathe, where he spent his last minutes. When she visits, she wonders what those minutes were like. Did he die peacefully? Did he yell for help? Was he lying there waiting for someone to come save him? Did he suffer?

The death of her father makes her appreciate others in her life. She tries to spend more time with her family — her dad’s four step-daughters from a previous marriage: Renee, Mindy, Kim and Jennifer and her half-sister, Kristy, along with her sisters’ children.

Whenever she leaves after seeing them, she always says “I love you.”

The times she sees her family the most are holidays. For someone who lost a parent, holidays are difficult. Holidays used to be her dad’s favorite time of the year because the whole family would be together. It was what he lived for.

Her first Thanksgiving without her dad was six weeks after his death; Christmas just a few weeks later. The holidays brought memories, but also sadness. And each June, Anderson doesn’t know what to do for Father’s Day. There’s nothing left to celebrate.

As Anderson approaches her senior year, she laments that her dad won’t see her graduate from the university he was so proud she attended. When other parents gather to watch their children walk down the hill, the man in her life who was ready to snap a photo at any important moment wouldn’t be there to shoot her in her cap and gown.

If she gets married, she doesn’t know who will walk her down the aisle.

When these thoughts flood her brain, she grabs her journal she started days after his death. She uses it is write her feelings and memories of her dad. She wants to make sure she doesn’t forget them.

That’s the point of the journal. It’s a way to keep him alive, in a sense.

That’s all she has left.

Chris' story | Lindy's story | Ed's story

— Edited by Joel Petterson