Eighteen years ago today I was at work. I called to check on my best friend/sister-in-law who was ready to give birth to her first child any day. She was doing great but was experiencing an uncontrollable urge to, well, to put it as delicately as possible, have a bowel movement. “DON’T PUSH, and get to the hospital!!” I told her. Not long after that Richard arrived. WHAT a cutie. He was named in honor of his two grandfathers, Richard and Daniel. A first grandchild and grandson for the both of them. I was a very excited and proud first-time auntie.
Four years ago today I was working my last, and for the most part, rather uneventful shift in the ER. I had turned in my resignation and was planning my move from Los Angeles to Colorado which was to take place in just a month. I was excited about the new life which awaited me and all the adventures I was to have. And I was thinking of my oldest nephew, Richard, who was on vacation with friends but was turning 14.
Just a couple of hours before my last shift was to end I got the phone call that didn’t change any of that, but changed absolutely everything.
Instead of long and tearful good-byes with my co-workers, I started the longest and most tearful good-bye of my life. One that, as of today, has lasted four years.
I no longer count the time Connie has been gone in minutes, or hours, or days, or weeks, or even in months, but in years. It’s still surreal to me. I miss her every minute.
Congratulations on your 18th birthday Dicky Dan. Your mother would have loved to see you and the man you have become.
I love you both, to the ends of the earth and to the highest heaven.