unhappy Anniversary

Hi everyone,
So today is February 7th, a sad day in my family. Five years ago today my step father (the best man I have ever known) died in his sleep. His death came as a total shock as he was only forty nine years old and in perfect health. The medical examiner ruled the cause of his death as sepsis, apparently caused by an undiagnosed kidney infection.
I remember the very moment that I heard the news so vividly that I wonder if the memory will ever fade? Part of me hopes that it will, and naturally, part of me hopes that it won't. I think it was a Tuesday. I had just come home from the gym still sweaty from my work out, Emma was on the floor in the living room watching tv. I stood at the sink filling a glass of water and the phone rang. I looked at the caller ID curiously and thought, why would my mother be calling me noon time on a Tuesday? (we don't speak)- I thought, the girls are in school (my sisters), can't be them...?
I answered hesitently, greeted by my sister Ashleigh's sobs on the other end. I thought it was our Papa, I thought that he had finally suffered a fatal stroke and I braced myself for the words that I knew would break my heart.
She said, "Dad's dead"....
I said "What, wait... Papa?" - heave heave sob sob
she said, "No Dad, he died in his sleep last night, Grampie found him this morning"
In the background I heard the wailing cry of my baby sister Courntey and my kitchen began to spin around me like I was sucked straight into the eye of a cyclone.
I remember that I sat on the edge of the kitchen stool, I remember leaning my heavy body up against the corner of the island for support, I remember that I suddenly felt really cold in the dampness of my wet work out clothes as if the room temperature had plummeted and the sweat spots were turning to ice.
I know that I told Ashleigh, "I have to call you back" and I remember dialing the number to Dan's mobile work phone.
He answered and I said, (and I remember this so well)"Tell Calvin that you have to go right now and start walking towards the car, get in and drive home immediately, my Father is dead and I am here alone with Emma and I feel faint, now go now to the car"
The world I knew, thirty seconds, one minute before, the world where order reigned supreme and things made some sort of sense, the world as I knew it, was over.
It wasn't Papa at all, he was alive. It was my Da. My Da was dead.
I called the girls back, taking in short wisps of air as I tried not to faint, watching the clock on the microwave, counting the twenty two minutes flat it should take Dan to get to me and the baby...counting the minutes until that wounded animal cry could be released from my gut, the death cry was churning inside me waiting for a room with a closed door.
Later that night, Dan drove me to Ann Taylor and told the salesgirl, "she needs appropriate funeral clothes, her Father's funeral in Boston, it will be much colder there"
She dressed me as my sobs turned to the denial screams, "No, I don't want to do this - get these black funeral clothes off my body!"
I stripped them from me, my hysteria another force in the small dressing room and the poor girl stood helpless and heartbroken for me, realizing my denial couldn't change a thing....
That was five years ago today.
Five years ago right now, I was crying in waves of grief that scared my kids and scared me too.
Five long years.
The saddest part of his death for me personally is that my sisters, his daughters, did not get to know him like I did. This hurts me more, than my own sense of what has been lost in my life. They were mere girls when he died, they didn't get to know him as adults like I did. They hadn't yet had the mature and wonderful conversations he was known for, the soul searching, the wit, the wisdom, the humor. I hate that. I hate that he died before they got that part of him. It was the part of him that helped shape me, the part of him I cherished, the part of him that they now NEED.
I hate that he is gone, but I hate that he is gone FROM them more. They are his girls, they are so like him in so many ways. I see him in their faces, hear him in their voices. I wish they knew more of him, so that they could see what I see when they look in the mirror.
I have tried my hardest to be a worthy big sister to them. Tried my hardest to honor what he would have wanted me to do for them, how he would have wanted me to love them, honor what lessons he would want me to teach them.
It's hard. It's so hard. It's hard that he is gone and I miss him. It's hard to not fill his un-fillable shoes, but still feel as though I have to try. It is hard to have the sound of his unique laugh allude me sometimes.....
Death is hard.

All you can do is go on. I have told the girls "time heals all wounds is a crock of shit"
time doesn't heal death - all time does is get you further away from the last time you heard him, touched him, kissed him....Time just provides time to adjust, that's all.
Time will never make it easier. And I say, it shouldn't.
I remember him skipping in the snowfall, his tartan scarf around his head like little red riding hood. I remember him turning to me in the static light of the snow and the street light, I remember his smile, his dimples and his eyes pinched with joy - he called to me "come on Dot" and waved his gloved hand my way.
I hope five years from now I remember ten years ago, I hope I remember that Winter night, I hope I remember the way he held baby Courtney all the time and how he always called Ash his Buddy girl.
I hope I never forget any of it.....
I love you Ashleigh, I love you Courtney.
I love you Ned, Dad, my Da.