I was looking forward to a really slack week. It's "Reading Week" at university (doesn't that sound more academic than "Spring Break"?). On Valentine's Day, we had planned to celebrate "Family Day" (Feb 15th to any non-Canucks) and kick off my break by visiting the Kitchener Museum to see Our Body: The Universe Within. About 20 minutes before we were heading out the door, the phone rang.
This was a call I had been expecting for at least five years. But nonetheless, it was a horrible shock. My ex-husband had died in the night, the father of my sons, after a very long illness due to complications from diabetes. It seems he had developed a kidney infection, and become septic. He needed to be in the hospital, but refused to go back in the hospital, having only three months earlier gotten out. He'd been in the hospital before that for nearly five years.
Sailor Boy had JUST been posted to Halifax only eight days earlier, leaving 16 year old Itty Bitty to plan his father's funeral arrangements. Sailor Boy flew home Tuesday morning, and the funeral was today.
No worries - - we're all managing quite well. I'm so proud of the boys. During the visitation yesterday, I tried to be in the wings (I mean, we've been divorced quite a long time...not exactly appropriate for me to be playing the grieving widow!) but still close enough to be supportive for the boys, and be able to speak to people that were from my side of the family, and people we knew mutually. I must have been glowing with pride though - - so grown up, so handsome, so polite.
Their dad would have been sooooooooooooo proud. Rest in peace, old friend.