I’ve detailed the events of October 11, 2004 in a previous blog: how we had just returned from the pumpkin patch in anticipation of Halloween. How I was preparing to meet Mom and Dad at my in-laws for Thanksgiving Dinner. How the doorbell rang and how surprised I was to see Father Smith at my door. How he sat me down and how I innocently thought that he was going to confess something to me! How loving, caring, and respectful he was as he shared the horrific news. How I sat in total shock, not believing what I had just heard. How I broke down in passing the news on to my brother over the phone. And how heartbroken I was to find my mom weeping in her living room…the cops had beaten me to the house by a mere two minutes.
I have mixed emotions as I sit down to write this. Of course I am sad. I miss him so much. I’ve told the story of his death to a few people this week. While the story gets easier to tell as the years go by, the hurt is still there.
My dad was an avid Canucks fan, and thus I think of him every time I watch a game, write a Canucks blog, or do a silly Canucks song. I wish that he got a chance to meet Kayla. He would have loved her (and vice-versa). And he only knew Jacob for a year.