Two days throughout the year really affect me on my journey of grief.  Though I feel my father’s absence on Christmas and Thanksgiving, I had already spend those days without him, living in Arkansas, so far from my California “home”.  The first day is April 14.  That was the day he slipped into eternity.  The second day is January 5, his birthday.

A few days ago, his birthday appeared on the calendar.  It hit me.  It hit me hard.  I don’t really know why.  I pretty well have my grief under control…(I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.)  I have spent the last 6 years of my life with families who are meeting me on the worst day of theirs.  Grief is an important road we travel.  I don’t believe healing is possible without it.  With this in mind, I occupy my days, and often my nights, trying to figure out how to help people take that first step into the healing process.  It can be quite challenging because everyone is different.  Every family is different.  Members within the same family are different.

I’m different than my mother, and I handle things differently than my brother…even though we are grieving over the same man who meant so much to each of us.  This birthday was tough for ME.  I woke up gloomy.  I struggled through the work day even though we were quite busy.  I came home and did nothing…absolutely nothing.  (Which isn’t an easy task with 3 children bouncing around.)

At one point in the day, my friend and employee Tommy rubbed me between the shoulder blades and gave me an encouraging word.  He’s on his own path of grief, having lost his wife a few years ago, and fully understands how a specific day can be so debilitating.

“How old would your dad be today?” he asked.

“53”, I responded…”wait.  No…….58?!  Is that even possible.”

I was floored.  How could my dad be 58.  In my mind he’s not a day older than 53.  I don’t remember birthday 54 or 55 or 56 or 57.  It was in this surreal moment that I realized, time had stood still.  Somehow, when dad’s heart stopped beating, a clock in my realm of perception stopped ticking.

I used to laugh at people who had to stop and think about how old they are, but now, when asked, my immediate answer is 28.  I have to stop and think to realize I’m almost 33!  It’s not because I want to stay young…that’s just the number that comes to mind.  Why?  I think it’s because I spent my 28th birthday in a funeral home in Central California, arranging my father’s funeral.  I spoke to my mother on the phone the evening of my epiphany.  She said that sometimes she says, “Such and such happened 3 years ago.” Only to realize that it happened 3 years before he died.

Time stood still for Andrew Gonzalez in 2012.  I remember everything pertaining to the incident.  I remember our long conversation on April 13.  I remember the email I typed to my boss on the morning of April 14, asking if I could have a week off in May because my dad was “getting bad.”  I remember the family in the arrangement room with me that Saturday morning to arrange their loved ones funeral.  I remember the phone call I received from my mother, right after they walked out, to tell me that dad had coded and they were trying to revive him.  I remember the second call…”He’s gone.”  I remember the call I made to my brother, to inform him so he could get to mom asap.  35 hours on the road, literally hundreds of texts and Facebook messages, the emotional embrace as I walked through the door in Atwater, California….I remember it all.  Every detail.  Details I don’t usually remember.

Time stood still…and I don’t know when it will start again for me.  It kind of leaves me with a smile.  He was worth time getting messed up over.  I don’t want time to move me away from him.  I don’t want time to cause memories to fade.  I don’t want to lose the, “it feels like just yesterday” feeling that is so special to me.

With all that said.  Time does move on.  Since he left us, my brother has had 2 more beautiful children, I was promoted in my career, my church that he never got to see, has grown and made an impact in peoples lives, and my kids have done 1000 things that would have made him proud.

I’m just looking forward to the day when I see him again, in a place where time will no longer be a factor.

-A.G.