My heart was pounding in my throat.  I could hardly speak.    

What?       What are you saying? 

I was confused and disoriented.  Wait.  Wait.  What?  

She repeated that she was so sorry to have to tell me this, but my father was dead.  I sat on the edge of the bed stunned; not knowing what to say or do.  How could this be?  My father had not been ill and was three months shy of turning 60.  He was only 59 years old.  What the hell was going on?  I had endured nearly losing my pregnant wife and daughter-to-be just a few months before this.  Now, my father was dead and he’d never get to see his first and only grandchild.  

I told my stepmother that I would get to their the house, as soon as I could.  As I hung up the phone, my wife wrapped her arms around me.  She could clearly follow what had just happened.  Not so much from the conversation, because I spoke very few words, but more from the emotion.  I told her that we had to go.    We dressed quickly even though it felt like everything was moving in slow motion.   We backed out of the garage to a blanket of snow.  It was virtually a blizzard and was probably the worst night of all nights to drive 30+ miles, especially at 3:30 a.m.  But, I had to see my dad to say goodbye.   

We embarked on our journey.  The visibility was horrible and the road conditions were treacherous.  It took, at least, twice as long as usual to reach the highway, but once we got on it the drive was pretty steady.   Heading north on Highway 95 to Alexandria, Virginia we noticed something remarkable.  It wasn’t obvious to us at first; we were probably too preoccupied with all of the snow.  But, it dawned on us that we were the only people on the highway.  

Those that are familiar with the Washington D.C. area know that there are always cars on Highway 95 – no matter the time, no matter the weather.  It is one of those unpredictable predictabilities.  I have seen traffic jams on 95 (or 495 or any other surrounding highway) at 2 a.m.     Here we were trudging along in the middle of the night like a single dot in motion on a bright white canvas.  If my wife had not been with me I would have felt so alone like the last man on earth.  It was the strangest feeling and the most surreal experience that I’ve ever had.    

We finally reached the house – the only one with lights on at this hour.  In fact, all of the lights in the house were on which added to the weird aura I sensed.  Instead of the usual joy that I felt whenever I pulled up to this house, now I was filled with dread.  My stepmother answered the door lifeless and despondent.  We hugged and spoke to each other for a few moments.  Then my wife and I left in search of my father’s body.  

The hospital was not very far away.  We went in and explained why we were there.  The attending nurse called someone on the phone.  A few minutes later we heard the sound of another nurse approaching us.  It was the shoes.  Not the click – click – clicking sound of heels on a linoleum floor, but the squeaking sound of nurse’s shoes – orthopedic  shoes.  This reminded me of a scene from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, but she had a kind face.  She greeted us warmly and led us to the morgue.  She asked us to wait outside.  I guess she wanted to prepare the body for viewing – to make sure that we saw him in the best way possible.  I was very appreciative of that.   

The room was bright and cold and he was laying there in front of me.  Even though I had just seen him a few days earlier, he looked so much smaller than I remembered.  I reached out to touch his arm.  Thankfully, his body was still warm and tender.  Tears streamed down my face and my voice cracked as I told him that I loved him.  My wife hugged me and said that my father had been very proud of me, which was comforting.  I thanked the nurse for her time, then we drove back home.  That was 18 years ago, almost two months to the day of when my daughter was born.  I still miss my dad and it makes me sad that my daughter missed out on his joy.  They would have loved each other immensely.