It came on a Tuesday night, late summer. You never want to understand, to comprehend. There's always a moment of time, some longer than others, of complete denial. It was only a brief second or two of incomprehension, after I made her repeat herself, before I understood what my sobbing 13 year daughter was saying. "We were in an accident, daddy's breathing but I can't wake him up!" The answer to each of my questions was the same,"I don't know!"
I had been in the studio watching my son's tae kwon do class when she called. Class was just finishing up when I yelled to Isaiah to grab his shoes we were leaving now. I could tell by the look on his face that he could clearly see the fear on mine. As we got in the car I explained the call and that we needed to find them, Kyleah did not know where they were. I tried not to scare him but he was clearly worried for his dad and sister.
This call came on September 7, 2010 and is the divider that now separates our lives, from B.C. (before cancer) and A.D. (after diagnosis). That whole night was one big gut punch. My stomach still hurts 5 months later.