Gaming Through Grief (Part 1): The News

Day 10,426

To be honest with you, I've been dreading this post.  Four days and four months ago my life was forever changed with the unexpected and sudden loss of my namesake, my father Randy Stewart.

Before the phone call from my sister I would have told you that my 28 years of life had seemed more like 56 with the mountain-peak highs and Death Valley lows in conjunction with the amount of experiences I've witnessed.

"Randy!  Randy!"  Cera wailed in the phone.

"Cera, what the hell?  What's going on?"  I thought she was going to say one of her kids was hurt, that someone had stolen something, a pet died.  Not my Dad, though.  He hung tough, despite the missteps and redundancies, my Dad would always be there with a sarcastic comment and a full flavor cigarette.

Cera's sentences were jumbled, sounding like a singular, manic word instead of separate syllables.

"IcalledLathampolicebecauseDad.  Jesus Christ. Dadstillwouldn'tanswermycalls."

I responded in silence.  I knew what she was going to say.  

Dammit Dad, I thought, you didn't take your meds.  You had a seizure and hurt yourself.  You could've called someone.

"Theyhadtobreakdownthedoor!"

"What?  Where is he?  How bad was he-"

"Randy," there is a suspended silence right before a tornado rips a house into shreds, a sliver of time that the winds and rain go quiet and a false sense of luck sweeps over you before the sound of wind's fury bears down in ear popping, locomotive pressure.  That fake relief washed over me quickly before I realized the worst was coming in the next few words my sister whispered.

"They found Dad in there, he's dead."


My jaw tightened.  Cera exhausted every ounce of her strength to force those words past her lips and melted down, succumbing to the terrible sounds of tragedy.  Of anguish.

We cried together on the phone for a few seconds until the reality rushed out of my heart and to my head.  Panic.  I had to get off of the phone, I had to focus, I needed to get home to Abby, my brothers I needed to tell them, we needed to talk and be together and focus and, I had to get off of the phone.



"Why are you crying?"

Gunner.  In the backseat, a silent observer to my breakdown.  I sucked in and wiped my palm across my face.

"I'm sorry, Bunny, I'm sorry you saw me like that."

"But why are you crying?"

"A bad phone call, buddy.  I got some real bad news, really sad news."

He and I drove in silence.  He spoke again a few minutes later when we pulled into the driveway.

"You don't have to be sorry for crying, remember?  You told me that."

I laughed through composed tears.

"Thanks, Bun."

"It's your heart isn't it?  Your heart hurts?"

"It does."

"My mom will hug you and I'll hug you and when Emery gets here he will hug you, too."

I leaned back and held his hand trying my hardest not to burst again.

"That means everything to me right now," I said, "I love you."

"I love you, too."

-to be continued-