I got the call during class, our professor was giving a lecture on the history of Parkinson's.
I hadn't realised I'd left my phone on, I quickly denied the call and turned off my phone not thinking anything else of it.
Later that day as I'm in the cafeteria the missed call comes to mind, opening up my missed calls I hit the number.
The phone rings until a stoic voice comes through the other side.
"Is this Bridget VanHorn?"
When they tell me they don't beat around the bush.
Then again I suspect they don't have patience for a criminal.
They tell me I was the only family member they could get hold of and that you've been taken to the morgue, or what's left of you.
They tell me if I don't Claim you, you'll be given a public Heath funeral, just a coffin and a Chaplin.
No flowers, no mourners and no stone.
I tell Them to give me 24 hours.
I have to tell the family.
I first call mom.
She recently married this rich Hungarian lawyer and was living the high life in the Caribbean.
The moment I mention your name she hangs up.
I next phone your parents, they were spending their retirement years in a village, they had the same reaction as mother, stating they no longer had a son before hanging up.
I ring your sister, she tells me to just let the state deal with him.
I ring Mason, he had recently gotten married, I'm sure you remember jessica dad.
She used to live down the street from us and would come cover to play sometimes on Saturday when her parents were out.
You always said you knew some day she would become a part of the family.
I suppose you were right.
Mason spits out that you deserve everything and you deserve to be forgotten.
It's just me.
I ring the morgue to claim the body.
After that, I'm put through to a funeral director.
I use all the money I was saving to buy a house.
No one else was going to put a dime in for your funeral, and I was a medical student drowning in my own debts.
Your funeral was held on a Tuesday, it was overcast, the wind was blowing making an awful noise.
It was just myself and the chaplain.
The cheap wicker coffin was being lowered.
I couldn't afford much.
Still, as the coffin gets lowered and the chaplain's voice gets lost in the wind, the simple bouquet of carnations (your favourite) is losing its petals and my black dress is at risk of flying up, I think back on some of our fonder memories.
Memories of me as a child, how you would hold me in your lap and tell me about your day.
Memories of you tucking me in at night, kissing me on the forehead, telling me how I was the Pearl of your world.
Memories of you placing me on your shoulders and walking through Central Park together, father-daughter days you would call it.
Memories of when you still loved us.
I like to believe that even now you still held love for me somewhere deep in your heart, even if it wasn't enough to stick around.
I'm sorry you couldn't love us enough to stay.
I'm sorry we weren't enough.
Finally, your coffin is placed in the grave.
The Chaplin give me dirt, I grab a handful and throw it in the grave.
The Chaplin Finishes the prayers and offers me condolences before walking away.
Now it's just you and me.
A stray tear falls from my eye and lands on your coffin.
Walking towards the headstone I place the bouquet of flowers in front of it.
The stone is nothing fancy but it's all I could afford.
Jason VanHorne
1969 - 2017
Beloved father
I place a kiss on the headstone.
Despite everything you've done, I still love you.
And I will always love you.
Not the man you became, but the man I knew as my father.
Quietly I walk away, no doubt workers will be by to Finnish the burying.
That evening I heat some noodles in a microwave, not in the mood to do any sort of cooking.
After I've finished, I take a shower and then go to bed.
It's only then done I let the tears flow.
Tears of anger, grief and pain.
Anger of your actions against the family, building up dept and then abandoning your family to deal with the aftermath.
Grief at my father being dead, the father who used to say me and Mason was his universe, the father that loved us.
Pain at knowing the hope that you would one day come back was forever gone.
In my palm I hold your ring, it was your favourite ring that your father gave you on your 18th birthday, you gave it to me when I was 13 and in the hospital when my appendix burst, I was scared about the surgery, you told me along as I had it you would always be there.
It's all of you I have left.
Sleep doesn't find me easy but eventually I do drop off.
That night I would dream of you, dream of happier times.
It was almost like you were there with me.
I swear I could feel your arms wrapped around me and your lips placing a delicate kiss on my head.
With a smile on my face, I sleep with peace.
I love you too, I'll always love you and I'll be watching over you.
