But I only made it 12 hours into February before I was a mess and the tears were rolling. It was one of those Facebook memories, a blog post from four years ago...
After years of my Dad refusing all avenues and offers of help.....Adult protective services of Orange County had called my sister after an anonymous report had led to a visit to my Dad's house...he was living in squalor, his house infested with rodents, and he had had nothing but coffee, wine and cigarettes for months and had lost nearly 90 lbs in the 11 months since either of us had seen him...
That February we rushed all avanues of help possible to rescue my Dad, but it was really too late and he died 9 weeks later....
As I read that blog post the tragedies of other Feburarys flooded back and I was lost in the grief....
The call from the ICU in Lethbridge that Mom was on life support... "Who let me live??" was the first question she scrolled across a white board, while still intubated...She would live, but never wanted too.
The foggy February morning a year later, Mom won't make the night, you need to come now...jumping on a plane...mom would rally and we would head home, after a rather annoyed goodbye ...
Only to have the doctor call early on a Sunday morning 4 days later...she gone, she had a horrific fall...
We race back on airplanes for the second time that February, kids still in their twenties, should never have to bury a parent.
The cold Alberta wind whipped our faces, as we placed roses on her casket before they would lower it to its resting place, February was even over.
In a month devoted to hearts and love, we have experienced much heart ache...something I wish I could simply forget, but hearts don't work that way... And my heart will always ache a little more than it should in February.
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