Sunday.
Brunch in the morning. Bunch of friends, good time. "Folks are doing well, thanks for asking."
Home, and out. In the car.
I was taking a load of drywall to a nearby dumpster. When dad overhauled my basement- we had a ton of scrap left over, and it's been piled up in my garage for over a year. I never get to it, and every time I see it I think, "the next time dad comes up, he's going to wonder what the hell is wrong with me." Just the thought is motivation.
So I'm in the car, realizing that about three more trips like this and I'll be halfway done. I've already planned my cop-out - the boy will be waking up soon. Dad, of course, would keep doing this until the rock was gone, or the dumpster was full. Me, I'm planning on hitting DQ.
Phone rings. Mom. I miss it - hit the damn button that sends it to voicemail. Looking to call her back, turning out of the parking lot when the phone rings and it's my wife. She's losing it, "Your mom just called, I think your dad died!"
And everything after that just streaks behind me.-until mom calls and gives me the news for real.
There was an accident, something stupid, and he was dead at the scene. The connection is terrible; since Katrina beat hell out of the coast it's a miracle she got through at all. I tell her I'll break the news to the family - she hangs up-
-and the world comes back in a rush.
I'm somewhere on the east side of town. Somewhere in Mississippi, dad is dead, and no one around me has any idea why the guy in the white car is screaming at his steering wheel.
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