That Sunday phone call

I have always valued my Sundays, probably even more than Saturdays. I guess on Saturdays I often mow the yard and do other house chores and usually, there is some overflow from my week at work. But Sundays are different.

Over the last couple of years, my Sunday mornings have started with me cooking breakfast for my wife and daughter. The menu options are inevitably either waffles or pancakes. Then my daughter and I head to the shops. We go to a café first, then down to the playground, then to the bookshop, and finally, we do the grocery shopping for the week.

When that’s all done, we head home to my wife and have lunch. After that, I’ll go do a workout and try to do some writing. Then it’s a case of ironing shirts for the week ahead and getting my daughter sorted for her week.

This Sunday was the 30th of January this year. It was an Australian summer, and the school year was starting the next day. My daughter was all set to go into her first day of kindergarten. I think I was just as excited as she was. She had her uniform all ready and was so keen to see the playground.

I had started a new job the week before, it was a step up with a considerable pay rise and a lot more responsibility. I was looking forward to sinking my teeth into the new challenges that lay ahead.

My daughter and I had gotten home from the shops, and my wife had prepared lunch. I had just finished eating when I saw that I’d missed a call from my mum. I knew she was visiting my sister, so it was a bit odd that she’d call on a Sunday afternoon. I rang her back.

The phone rang only a couple of times and Mum answered with a “Hello”, to which I replied, “Hi, what’s up?”

Now, if you know my Mum, you’ll know that she talks a lot. This means when she is quiet it’s cause for concern. This time her silence told me that she was not going to deliver good news. I heard her voice shake as she started to speak “Dad’s been killed in a motorbike accident”.

There are moments in your life that are gut punches; this was one of them. As I sat on the couch all I could think to say was “What? When?”

She went on to tell me he’d been out on a ride with the other members of the restored motorcycle club (Dad owned a 1956 BSA Gold Star and a 1951 Vincent Rapide), he’d left the road on the way back and was pronounced dead at the scene. I sat there for those few minutes talking to Mum about what we would do, that period stopped much emotion from hitting me I think I kept processing the news.

Mum made the statement “I haven’t even got keys to the house. Your father has them.” To which I replied, “Well Mum, now the police have them”. I’d been a police officer in my parent's hometown, and I understood the processes that they went through, so I knew I was going to be the person liaising with the police up there. I also knew that I’d have to get up there so that I could deal with all the other unpleasant duties like identifying the body.

I started calling a few friends and family, but soon found that when I did people would answer all jolly, some even saying funning things, then I’d launch into “Dad died” and they wouldn’t know what to do. After a little while, I started to send text messages letting people know, which let them collect their thoughts so they weren’t blindsided, and then they could call and if I was up to it, I could talk to them.

There were some people that I wanted to talk to, but they weren’t contactable. One good friend who’d lost their dad was away and a couple of other friends didn’t answer, because they were at work and didn’t have their phones.

Between booking flights and hiring cars and everything else, the rest of the afternoon turned into a blur. I knew that I would miss my daughter's first day of kindergarten and I felt terrible about that. But kids are resilient and have a way of pulling you back to Earth.

As we sat down to dinner, I thought I should explain something to my daughter, so I said, “Now kiddo, Dad’s got to go away for a few days, ok?”

She looked at my wife, then at me, then back at my wife. She threw her hands up in the air and shouted, “Yay!” Her reaction knocked me a little bit, then she followed up with, “So Mum, that means that we can have a sleepover. That’s really exciting. You can sleep in my room”.

Wanting to settle things down, my wife said “Yes, but Dad is really upset ok. He has to go away.”

But my daughter was having none of it. “Yeah, I know Mum. But do you want the top bunk or the bottom bunk?” Both my wife and I had the first giggle that we’d had all afternoon.

As I packed, I reflected on the previous week. I’d thought about calling Dad pretty much every night, and I put it off. This was going to be something I’d regret for the rest of my days. Growing up, Dad and I weren’t close, but over the last couple of years, we started to bond. He and I had a project to restore an old Ford pickup, although he was doing most of the work and I was just funding it.

I’m coming up to my 50th birthday, and everyone wants me to be excited, but it’s not that easy. The last time I spoke to Dad was on my birthday in January this year, I can't say that to people without getting upset.

It’s been a tough year with the old man gone, but in all this loss I’ve learned a lot and found what’s important to me.