Life In The Rear View Mirror

I truly believe two things about life.
#1:  God has a plan
#2:  And sometimes the plan sucks

If I have learned anything in my past 32 years on this earth, I have learned these two things.  I am a woman of many words, but I am also a woman who tries whole-heartly to think before I speak.

I know that in a time of loss, people you know come out of the woodwork.  People all text, e-mail, call, Facebook message you, and try to express their feelings of loss to you.  People keep asking me today, "What can I do for you?"  The answer is simple.  Do you still have parents in your life?  If so, call them.  Tell them you love them and thank God that they are still in your life.  Living your life "in the rear view mirror" of what if scenarios does not work and only makes your current perception of reality more difficult.

I should have called him more.
I should have not been angry he was still coaching.
I should have seen this coming.
I should have been there.
I should have taken more time for him.
But, that is my rear view mirror.  I can look at it and dwell on it, or I can look at what I did do.

I did get to be there at the end.
I did have him in my life for 32 years.
I did know that he loved me.
I did know he loved my husband and my children.
I did know he was my biggest fan and advocate in everything that I did.

After my Dad's heart attack in July, we had several talks about that experience.  I know he believed he was living on borrowed time.  He told me many times that he had things "to do" before he was called home.  I know he made his peace with his maker and I know he was happy and ready to go when the time came.  I guess that his time was up and I have comfort in knowing he had shared this with other family members.  I know that he is with his brother, Jim.  I hope that there was some smart-ass joke given to him when they met on the other side.  I know that my Dad missed him very much.

There is one moment today that gave me pride and comfort.  As I was leaving the hospital, I saw a man my Dad worked with at the hospital at the flag pole.  I wanted to make sure he had heard because I knew that my Dad really liked this man and thought a lot of him.  As I walked over to the flag pole, this man pulled the flag to half-mast.  I waited until he was finished.  The man looked at me, gave me a hug, and said, "this is for Barry."  Speechless.  That moment, with a man I barely knew, meant more to me today that he can ever know.

I'm to young to bury my Dad, but this is my reality.  There is no sugar coating it.  It sucks.  I hate every thought about the week to come.  I hate this.  I'm a policy and procedure girl.  That is why I am in the occupation that I am in!  There is no manual for this.  I hate emotions.  I hate that pit in my stomach and the aching in my chest that tells me that this is my currently reality.