May 4th, 2016.
That’s a day I’m not going to forget.
Just around 5 am, I got a phone call. From my dad’s number. Something clearly had to be wrong, because my
dad would never call me at 5 am…I answer the phone and it’s my stepmom, Chris.
She’d called to tell me my dad had a heart attack, and died.
My dad. Dead. At 64.
It hit me really hard. My dad’s side of the family has a
good longevity about them. My dad was always on the go, always working. He
retired early, and kept on going. Apparently
he loved playing with concrete…Chris says he would have concreted the whole
yard if she’d let him…he was always fixing things; sometimes I wonder how much
he broke just so he would have an excuse to fix it…but he was pretty good at
it. He worked in his own way, and did it.
He loved fishing, hunting, camping, and getting stuck. Chris tells me of the first time he got stuck
since they were together. On their
honeymoon. In Grandpa Frank’s camper. In the Graham Mountains. And a troop of
boy scouts came to his rescue…
We can assume here that he took this as personal…as he’d go
out and get stuck just so he could get out on his own. Yup. Sounds like my dad…
Unfortunately this time, he didn’t make it. He was fishing
down at one of his favorite spots to fish and camp, and coming out, he got
stuck in a river bed. While jacking up his truck, that’s when it hit him.
Someone came along and found him slumped over in this truck, possibly going to
get his cell phone to call someone but it was too late. The Sheriff was called, and he was dead. So, the sheriff pulled him out this time…
Now, to the reader, please don’t take my words as harsh.
I’ve learned this week, or rather been refreshed on the fact that we Hancocks
tend to take death of a loved one sometimes with a bit of sarcasm and fun. It
really helps to ease the pain. Chris, my son, and myself got together with
Dad’s sister and two brothers, and my little brother Nick, and shared and
listened to stores about dad. From blowing up dead cows with dynamite, to setting
things on fire, to climbing trees on main street and throwing fruit at cars
passing by, my dad was quite the mischievous fellow.
Back to the phone call. When the call ended, I sat there on
the edge of my bed, my wife hugging me, and I cried. I cried a lot. I still
couldn’t believe my dad was dead. Almost a week later and it’s still hard to
believe. I went to work that day, and it was very tough. I’m a delivery driver,
and between relaying the story to my co-workers and then driving, the long
periods of me in the truck alone just wore on me. I worked half my day and had to go home.
Thursday was better, Friday was more bearable. My wife, being so supportive,
had talked with several of our acquaintances, and made the decision to set up a
gofundme account to help me get out to Arizona and back, and to help cover the
loss of days at work. I have such a big hearted set of friends and family, and
extended friends and family. They graciously donated from the heart to fund my
trip. So, I made the decision to go what
would be perceived as the cheapest route and drove out, cross country, with my
son. Kind of a bonding experience. We made it almost across Texas on Saturday,
completing about 930 miles total, and stopping for the night in Big Spring
Texas. Up the next morning and on the
road around 8, drove another 8 hours to Clifton Arizona. I’ve been here for 3
days, staying at my dad’s house with Chris, who has been a solid rock, and an
awesome mother to me and Jr during all this time. She’s a great woman. Certainly did all she could to keep my dad
under control for 37 years, and I know that couldn’t have been an easy task!
While here, I’ve shared memories with my son, which my dad
made with me. I guess I’ve sort of taken Dad’s role in teaching my son about
being out here. We’ve gone around the copper mines. I’ve shown him the big huge
dump trucks that my dad showed me. I took him around to the house that my dad
lived in when I’d come out to visit when I was a kit. I’ve shown him around
Clifton, Morenci, and we’ve tooled around Safford some as well. He loves the train, the old mining town of
Clifton, and we’ve had a great time.
It’s still not the same. I could never learn enough from my
dad. He’ll never get to show me all the cool rocks anymore. He’ll never get to tell
me and show me all the awesome constellations that I’ll just forget again. He’ll never get to show me the great off road
places he loves, the dried up riverbeds, or anything. I’ll never again get to
hear him tell me that he’s proud of the man I’ve become, or crack some silly
joke, or tell me he found another one of my “catches” (geocaching…he called it
catching instead of caching…) without a dumb old GPS…
While I’ve been here, I’ve played around on your quad,
taught Jr how to ride it and let him have at it. It’s been real fun. I finished a project you were going to do for
Chris, and I may have even figured out how to work your ice maker, and
hopefully I can show Chris how to do it.
I sat in your shop tonight…the familiar smells of tools and metal, listened
to your rigged up car stereo for a while, tinkered with a few things, and cried
a lot...oh, and I scared the hell out of myself when I flipped the wrong light
switch and turned on the air compressor instead of the overhead light…
Again. I’ve got some great and wonderful supportive friends
and family. So many people have offered my family love and support through this
tough time. I’ve never lost a parent before, but I’m learning what it’s
like. I know that, even though the words
are kind, telling me that he’ll always be with me, and that he’ll speak to me
through my heart, just isn’t the same as an email, or a goofy text, or a
reassuring phone call. But I’ve got to go on as best as I can.
Dad, I don’t know if you can get stuck in Heaven, but I’m
sure there’s a lot to explore. I love
you, and I miss you. I don’t know what the future holds, but I know it’s not
going to be easy getting over the loss
of another great man in my life, my father.
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