When I was thirteen my father got sick.  He got the flu on my birthday which was September 3rd.  He gave me an album, The Best of Bread, then went to lay down. Throughout the week, he continued to get worse.  Finally, when he couldn't respond to my mother's questions, she called the ambulance.

 

I saw him twice while he was in the hospital.  ICU had a strict rule.   No children.  The nurses followed rules but there were a couple who would let the rules slide and allow me in.  I remember telling him that when he came home from the hospital he could sleep in my bed.  It was lower to the ground and would be easier for him to get in and out of.  

 

He never came home.  He died of Sepsis on October 2nd.

 

My mother only cried once that I saw.  It was a raw cry of heartbreak. She replaced crying with determination.  She went from pampered wife and queen to problem solver, inventor and head of household. She learned how to pay the bills, to budget, to ask the right questions and not to roll over when things got tough.  I don't think this attitude was new for her.  I think it was dormant during the comfort of marriage.  My father took care of his family.   

 

I remember a couple of months after he died, I was crying.  Whining about how unfair it was that all of my friends all had their fathers.  

 

She stood in the doorway to my bedroom and as gently as possible gave me this advice.

 

"Gretchen, you have two choices.  Yes, it's terrible he's gone.  But you can either go through life crying about how unfair it is that God took your daddy, or you can thank Him for giving you such a wonderful one for thirteen years."

 

I continued to cry but that didn't stop her.  "I can't tell you to stop crying.  That's all part of the journey.  But look for the good.  You were a very lucky girl.  Don't ever let grief steal that away."

 

She went into her own bedroom and closed the door.  I'm sure she cried. That was probably the hardest thing she ever had to say.  I'm sure of it, because a mother wants to protect her children.  They want to fix the problem and right the wrongs.  

 

My mom could be rigid and uncompromising at times, but she always had my back.