The Day the Music Died

The Day the Music Died

Reliving the Trauma

Ever since I moved away from Idaho in 2008, I have had this fear that something would happen to one of my parents and I wouldn't be there in time to fix it. This is probably normal and totally understandable since we are a very tight knit family. On October 17th, 2013, that fear became a reality. My Mom called at 8am (one hour after I had gone to bed) to tell me that she was at the hospital with my Dad and they thought that he had a heart attack. She needed me to pray and get there as soon as I could. My brother Ryan got me on the very next flight to Boise, and he and my other siblings would follow as soon as possible.

I literally threw a couple changes of clothing in a bag and ran out the door. Despite the one hour of sleep and the emotional turmoil I was in, I think that I made it to the airport in record time. Probably could have taken a little more time since I was 3 hours early for the flight, but there was no way that I could have sat around the house waiting. I was walking down the concourse to the gates when my Mom called again to tell me that it wasn't a heart attack as originally believed...it was an aneurysm in his brain...that there was nothing the doctors could do for him..to get there as quick as possible. I lost it right there in the middle of PDX. Sobbing while my heart was breaking. I felt so helpless being so far away and having no control over getting home.

The time at the hospital was surreal. I cannot in a million years fathom how we all got through it...how each of us siblings were able to get on the first flights out and arrive within hours of each other...how we were able to juggle extended family and friends in the midst of the worst trauma of our lives. We spent every waking hour with our father trying to convince him to fight to breath, and then begging him not to leave us. Watching the ventilator and gripping his hands with each breath. Every twitch or slight movement he made gave us hope. Not until the doctors did the EEG and we found out that there was no brain activity, did we finally understand that our strong Dad was no longer truly there. We were now faced with the most difficult decision of our lives...removing life support. I can never express the horror and pain of having to make that decision for someone. Nothing prepares you for it, and until you are in the situation, you can never know how you will react. Luckily, my siblings and Mom and I were able to communicate our thoughts and feelings and logically (and painfully) arrive at a unanimous decision twenty-four hours later...to remove life support.

My brothers and I decided to stay with our Dad while they removed the machines keeping him alive. Those last few moments with him, though the most immensely painful experience, were ones that I wouldn't have traded for anything other than to have my Dad back. The sounds of the tubes being removed and the machines being disconnected. The feel of my Dad's hand as I gripped it for dear life willing him to prove the doctors wrong and fight to live. The comfort and utter heartbreak of my brothers and I as we hugged each other...sobbing and supporting each other. The goodbyes and tears and disbelief as we gathered around him and listened to his final heartbeats. This is the day that the music died for me.

My Dad was extremely important to me...he was my mentor, my sounding board, my teacher. He greatly shaped the person that I am now. He taught me to love music and is the reason that I became a bass player. Most of my music taste is from him. Some of my earliest memories are of him playing bass or guitar...spending hours in music stores or at band practice. And as I got older playing roadie to his band and detailing his bass guitar. He never missed an opportunity to share music with his children and never missed any of our gigs. How can I listen to music now without it hurting?