I knew the instant I saw her name on my phone why she was calling. I always somehow knew that she would be the one to call when it happened. I ignored the first call, as if sending her to voicemail would make it untrue. I texted my brother to ask if he’d heard from him lately. I know that he knew, too. I answered the second time she called a few minutes later. “Katie? This is Myrna. Honey, your Daddy died this morning.”
I don’t remember much after hearing those words, other than dropping my phone and hitting the floor. The days and weeks that followed I would not wish on anyone. Trying to figure out what needs to be done from four states away, while dealing with the pain and grief of losing a parent was a living nightmare. Especially considering that the person you’d normally call to figure it all out is the one who now can’t answer.
Within a couple of weeks, the obituary was written and the arrangements were made. While the logistics were all figured out, the reeling of the pain and sadness were not. Thankfully, I had my brother and best friend to lean on, to cry with, to laugh with, and to remember with.
In our fresh heartbreak, together we looked for anything to keep our Dad alive — anything to make his absence hurt less and honor his memory. In the haze, one of us started a shared iPhone note between the two of us. At first, it was a random catch-all, and then we added categories to sort our thoughts. “Things He Loved,” “Stories He Loved to Tell,” “Things He Did,” “Favorite Memories,” and “Dad Phrases.” Then we added our favorite photos of him.
As the memories flooded over us, and the grief was all-consuming, the first few days were a flurry of my brother and I adding to each list. Funny stories, inappropriate things he’d say, his little nuances that we didn’t want to forget. We’d laugh at some, and cry at others. When we had a random thought or memory, we’d add it to the list. It became quite literally a place to put our grief. I both loved and hated hearing the notification on my phone when I knew that my brother had added something. I’ve heard that we hold on to heartbreak so hard because oftentimes it’s all that we have left. After losing Dad, this makes sense to me. We held on to this note because it kept him here with us.
As weeks and months passed, the pace of adding things to the shared note slowed. But even still, almost two years since he left us, I will randomly grab my phone and add something that pops into my head. Even still, when I miss him, I look at the note and see the highlight of something new that my brother has added without a word between us. It gives me comfort. It makes it feel like Dad is still here. And now, though we will always live with the heaviness of losing him, seeing his life spelled out on this shared note that we started back when the heartbreak was so fresh, I know that he is.
