Living and Learning Through Loss

Dec. 11, 2015, began like any other Friday in the Sarver home. We had attended a performance of the KC Rep’s production of A Christmas Carol the night before and didn’t arrive home until late. My older asked if I would take her into school an hour late so she could catch up on homework. I agreed and took my younger to Dunkin’ Donuts for breakfast (a Friday morning tradition and treat) and dropped her off at school. I arrived home to prep for a conference call, only to find my computer was having issues. 

As I worked to solve the issue, the house cleaners arrived. The weekend held a cookie exchange party on Saturday at our house and a Bunko group dinner the following Tuesday, so I wanted the house cleaned up before the parties started. The conference call began (my tech friend Nancy to the rescue, once again), Tori worked on homework, the cleaners did their thing (while the new puppy barked and barked and I tried to shush and shush), and a couple of hours flew by. I ran Tori to school and settled back in front of the computer to work. I had dressed for a noon Jazzercise class, but the call had taken longer than expected, so I skipped class and continued working.

My memory of the specifics of the afternoon aren’t as clear. I worked a bit late for a Friday, but I was bound and determined to take off one full week during the holidays and wanted to get as caught up as I could with work. Friday nights are pizza and movie night. When my husband called to suggest we go out for pizza this particular Friday, I was all for it—meant the kitchen wouldn’t get messy before Saturday’s party.

We met for pizza, played a holiday word game during dinner and then went back home to watch The Empire Strikes Back. We wanted the girls to see the first three Star Wars movies before the release of The Force Awakens.

About an hour into the movie as I was dozing, the house phone rang. The girls informed me it was Uncle Joe. I told them to answer the phone, and he asked to speak to me. He asked me where I was, which I found odd, because he had called me on my house phone, so I answered, “At my house.” He asked where in the house, to which I replied, “My room.” He told me to go downstairs.

Honest to goodness, as odd as it seems, my first thought was “My house is on fire and my brother in St. Louis knows? And he only wants to save me?” That’s what being half asleep when taking a phone call does to you. I went downstairs and he said, “I’m at the emergency room with Mom. Dad passed out during a dinner party.” During the remainder of the conversation what stood out were “right-sided heart attack” and “could be life-threatening.”

Phone calls were placed to other family members as Ty and I tried to decide how to move forward. Should just he and I head to St. Louis? Dad was being prepped for surgery and we were told it could take 10-12 hours. Did the girls really want to spend the weekend in a hospital waiting room? BUT, Joe used the term “life-threatening.” What if this was their last opportunity to see Grandpa? Highly unlikely, I told myself, as Dad was in perfect health. People have heart attacks every day. What about the new dog? Do we bring him?

It was now 10:00 on a Friday evening. Our final decisions were bring the girls, leave the dog, pack for a weekend stay and take it from there. I already had decided I was going to give Dad a heck of a lot of trouble for doing this to me so close to the holidays. I mean really, couldn’t he have timed it better?

My sister-in-law Anna was my point of contact and kept me updated on hospital happenings. Doctors were in and out talking with Mom and now my siblings who had gathered in the waiting room. And then, after an hour and a half of traveling and texting, my phone rang. I saw it was Anna and I knew, because she had been sending updates through texts, this couldn’t be good news.

“Margaret,” she started, “I am so sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but your dad didn’t make it and he died.” She then asked if I wanted her to talk to Ty. I nodded and handed him the phone. He hung up. And there, at 11:50 on Dec. 11, 2015, at mile marker 70 on I-70, my world split into the “before” and “after.”

This past year has been learning to live with my new normal. As my mom told us, our world continues to spin, it’s just that our axis has tilted and our world now spins differently. And it’s been hard and I hate it and I want to go back to before and I miss him terribly. While I am by NO MEANS an expert, here are a few things I’ve learned throughout the past year.

Accept help. Dad still worked every day and had a very active social life. The outpouring after his death was incredible. While we fumbled around with funeral plans, a very dear friend offered to take care of the luncheon after the funeral. We said okay and he took it upon himself to plan a lovely luncheon for more than 300 guests in just three days’ time. When people ask how they can help, give them a job to lighten your load.

Give yourself a break. I stepped back from volunteering and decided I need time to reset this past year. In addition, I had times when I had to call “uncle” and turn to others to help me through. I told Mom I would write some thank you notes for her. I had a bag full of cards from so many friends and acquaintances that sat on my kitchen counter for a good two months. Every day I walked by and thought, “I have got to send those notes.” I mentioned it to my sister-in-law one day. She swooped in, took the bag and wrote the notes I just couldn’t physically bring myself to write.

Go to the visitation or the funeral. Have you ever heard of someone passing and thought, “I don’t know the family all that well, not sure I should attend.” I have. After being on the receiving end, I’m here to tell you, go. My babysitter from when I was 5 came through the line and shared that she remembered Dad watching her as she walked across the street to her home after babysitting. A patient of more than 20 years shared how much she admired Dad. It meant the world to all of us to hear how much he had impacted others.

Everyone is dealing with something. You know how after you have a baby you hear everyone’s delivery story? After you suffer a loss, you hear everyone’s story of their own loss. First, listen to their story. Second, be empathetic to everyone, because even though you don’t know every person’s individual tale of loss or heartache, everyone is dealing with something.

Margaret Sarver lives in Lenexa with her family. She’s decided after giving her dad a big hug in heaven, she’s giving him a swift kick for leaving too soon.