Goodbye Dad!!

Bonnie H was ten years old. It was the Monday before Thanksgiving, 1973. She wasn't sure what was happening, at least at first. And then the very worst thing imaginable took place.

By Bonnie H

After that day when I walked out of the therapy room to greet my Dad, I thought there might have been some hope for me. I still had casts on both legs and both hands, but I was told that soon I would have my first leg braces. And the casts would come off my hands in a few weeks.

I got to be a junior bridesmaid in my sister’s wedding. Lilac gown and all. She had a baby that fall.

My Dad didn’t work anymore so life felt pretty good. Dad got me off the bus every day because Ma worked at a nursing home and didn’t get home ‘til later.

One Monday in November when my Dad got me off the bus, one of my uncles was over and so was our neighbor’s son.

Apparently, they all had had a beer or two. Lots of laughing. It was nice. I knew Ma would not be happy though.

Ma came in a little past four o’clock. Griping at my Dad about the turkey not being thawed.

Yes, that Monday was Monday of Thanksgiving Week.

November 19,1973. The day my childhood, such as it was, ended.

I was in my Dad’s chair. He was sitting on the couch. He set his glass on the coffee table. He made a sound like a gasp and I turned to look at him. My uncle got quiet real quick.

I yelled to Ma to come in. She said, “in a minute.”

I said “NO! NOW!!!!”

Our neighbor’s son (who was a grown man) scooped me up and brought me across the porch to his parent’s house and sat me on their couch.

No words were spoken. His mom, Izzy, sat with me. And her youngest son, Pete, stayed close by. Pete was my best friend. Like a brother.

I heard lots of noises coming from the front porch at my house, but I had no idea what was happening.

It seemed like forever before my sister came in. She didn’t have the baby with her. She sat down next to me.

She said, “Dad died.”

I was ten years old. He was 50.

**********

My sister left. I stayed with Izzy.

Pete was there, he asked if I could eat over at his house. Izzy said “of course” and brought me to the kitchen for supper. First time I ever had rotini pasta.

When we were done with supper, Izzy brought me back to the couch. I guess no one thought to bring me my crutches. Somewhere near bedtime, Izzy brought me home. That’s when I found out both sisters and their families had been there the whole time.

My oldest sister and her family stayed over that night. In fact, they stayed all week.

The next day, my brother got home. He was in the military and had to get permission. Ma made an appointment at the funeral home for that afternoon. So when they all went, I stayed home with my brother’s girlfriend, J. She had offered to be at our house to help out.

Ma planned three wakes. Two on Wednesday and one on Thanksgiving night. Then the funeral on Friday. I was brought to the wakes on Wednesday.

J was at our house making coffee and thanking people for coming by. I stayed with her during the wake on Thursday.

I begged not to have to go again. Friday was cold and snowy. But Ma made me go. She had me ride in the funeral car with the rest of them.

That was it. My Dad was gone.

Nothing more was said.

Later, I overheard conversations about “a massive heart attack.”

I also overheard Ma saying my Dad never should have been carrying me around.

In my adult years, I’ve heard the family stories about how their Dad died.

My mind would scream, “What are you talking about? You weren’t there. None of you were there!”

And no one ever talked to the kid who was.

This is the sixth installment in Bonnie H’s memoir, “Trauma Drama,” her first published writing. Earlier installments can be found on this Substack. “Here, Now,” ran on September 19, 2025. Subsequent chapters appeared on October 8, 2025 (“Skunk Oil,”) and November 14th, “Miracle Baby,” and November 15th, “Sugar Baby.” Last week’s installment was called “With Two Broken Wrists, I Learned How to Write in Cursive!”