Chapter Eight
The Day Everything Changed
By the summer of 1993, I was getting ready to start my freshman year of high school.
It was August in eastern Kentucky, hot enough that our box fans worked constantly in the windows because we didn't have air conditioning.
One morning I came downstairs and found Mom and Dad preparing to go look for one of Dad's beagle dogs that had gotten away on Dad's old property on Short Fork the day before. Mom was packing lunch because they expected to be gone for hours.
Dad asked if I wanted to go.
I told him no. I was going to stay home.
I turned toward the house.
Then I heard a loud thump.
I ran back onto the porch and saw Dad on his knees.
Mom screamed, “Call 911!”
I ran to the phone, gave dispatch our address, and told them something was wrong with my dad.
When I returned, Dad had managed to stand. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a little brown bottle, and put a pill under his tongue. Years later, I learned it was nitroglycerin.
He sat in his chair and assured us he was okay.
For a moment, I believed him.
Then he stood again.
This time, when he fell, he didn't get back up.
The ambulance came and took him to the hospital. Mom, Calvin, and I followed.
We sat in the waiting room until a doctor walked toward us. Before he said anything, I could see it on his face.
They had done everything they could.
Dad didn't make it.
I felt sick and ran to the bathroom. I could hear Mom in the hallway screaming and crying.
The drive home was long and quiet.
Over the next days, Mom planned Dad's funeral. Dad knew so many people through hunting clubs, friends, neighbors, and family that the funeral home was full.
Everyone there had lost someone.
But I had lost my dad.
I walked into that August morning worried about starting high school.
By the end of the day, I was learning how to live without my father.