Carlton H. Gorham. Her father. My grandfather. Lovebug. He died that day in Jefferson Memorial Hospital in Alexandria, VA and it changed both of us forever. He was only 64 and the doctor said his heart exploded.
I was at school in the 6th grade when it came over the loud speaker that I had an early dismissal and needed to come to the office. I was confused. As I left my classroom, I saw Sheila, my mom's best friend, and immediately thought something had happened to my mom but I was wrong. It was Lovebug and Mom and Dad were already at the hospital. My second mom had come to get me. That was 15 days prior. He would never make it out of the Cardiac Care Unit.I was only 11 and everyone thought I was too young to understand. I can still remember how mad that made me. I never got to say goodbye to the one man I adored my entire life. I remember walking past his room and he waved to me from his bed but they wouldn't let me in to see him. I knew how sick he was and all I wanted was to be with him but I was never afforded that chance. The day he died, I vowed to him, myself and my grandmother that I would spend the rest of her life making sure she was taken care of. From a young age, they taught me the meaning of unconditional love. Until the day that my sweet ladybug left her earthly body, 29 years later, to join the love of her life, I made sure she wanted for nothing. There's nothing I wouldn't have done for her and she for me. It's the least I could do for him.
I didn't think November could ever get any worse. But, 19 years and three days later, it did.
Sheila Pugh was my mom's best friend and my second mom. Sheila was always there. She drove me to elementary school every day in that green monster car. I don't remember a day of living in Dale City without Sheila in it. Her creativity and love of nature and animals rivals none - still to this day. She was supposed to plan my wedding. We had talked about it since I was a little girl. Because of being hospitalized with lung cancer, she couldn't even attend my wedding and I should have taken that as the sign of all signs and called it off. No, seriously, I should have, even if it was only a month prior. I remember sitting with her in the hospital telling her all about the wedding and giving her a framed picture. I was still so naive but in time Sheila would tell me she knew all along he wasn't the one.
I remember watching the Redskins game that Sunday night when I got the call from her son. It was November 30, 2003 when Sheila left her frail, cancer-ravaged, earthly body for her heavenly wings. How could this be? How could she be gone at only 55 years old? Sheila was always a powerhouse of strength and fire in a tiny little body. You never had to wonder what she was thinking or where she stood with you. What you see is what you get. I admired her more than any female I had ever met and even to this day, I still call on her for strength. My graceful, determined dragonfly, so much of how I look at life is because of you.
I hate November. I hate every single bit of it, especially towards the end of the month. It's like the whole first part of the month just looms over me waiting to collapse come the last week. It hits like a ton of bricks all over again. Can we just skip November? Can we just go from October to December? Better yet, let's skip Christmas too because it's not the same. But it never happens that way. The annual reminders always attack me as if I don't have enough daily ones leading up to that time.
Then it got worse. Yep. Wait. I bet you're wondering on how on earth it could get worse? Well, let me set the stage for you.
On Labor Day 2016, my pride and joy, my best friend, my german shepherd, Prowler, and I made one of our all-time dreams come true. We moved to the Outer Banks of North Carolina with the love of my life and the dad of his dreams. My parents had come down for Thanksgiving - our first Thanksgiving in our new home. On Saturday, November 26, we were waiting for the much anticipated Ohio State vs Michigan football game to begin. I took Prowler out for a potty break and as we got to the middle landing of our home, his legs buckled under him, his eyes glazed over and he collapsed. Not wanting to relive that nightmare again (because I've done it enough the last two years), the next day, November 27, 2016, my heart on four feet, with his head on my arm, took his last breath. Hemangiosarcoma. Absolutely no warning and nothing I could do to save him. That unconditional love that my grandparents gave me was now being imparted to my sweet boy so that he wouldn't suffer and experience immeasurable pain. My heart went with him that afternoon. As if November 27 wasn't already a nightmare enough, it just worsened exponentially.The one stable force that was always with me and Mom during these unbearable losses was my dad. Even though he was just as devastated as we were with each one, he was strong and persevered. Even though Carlton was more of a father to him than his own. Even though Sheila was the sister he never had. Even though Prowler was the dog he always wanted as a child and was never allowed to have. Dad always had those broad shoulders and always took care of his girls.
Flash forward to 7:38 a.m. on Friday, November 24, 2017. After 21 years of kicking prostate cancer's ass, after the last two years of battling chemo and suffering life-altering side effects, after six nightmare days of in-home hospice, and after making sure he saw his beloved Redskins win a division home game on Thanksgiving day, Denny Moore, my dad, my hero, the first man I ever loved, peacefully took his last breath as I read Psalm 121 to him.
My grandfather, my second mom, my best friend and my dad all died within a seven-day span of each other over 33 years. With the passing of each one, the sense of loss, pure heartbreak and emptiness became deeper.
November was never the same.
Thanksgiving was never the same.
Life was never the same.
And it never will be again.
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