by Kambray Williams
On April 8th, 2012 my twelve-year-old self never thought it would be the last time I saw my father. I was vaguely asleep in the room next to my parents as I overheard my father, Dick, speaking to my grandpa Leon about the break in at their restaurant. I rolled out of bed and stood at my doorway then with a sleepy voice asked, “Daddy, where are you going?”
He kissed me on the forehead and replied, “I have to go help your grandpa at Kenny’s. I’ll be back to cook breakfast, I love you.”
Around 9 a.m. I wake up to people screaming and yelling, and to what sounds like ambulance sirens. As I’m walking to the step, I pray to God it isn’t my family. I stepped down to the middle step which overlooks the hallway coming in from the front door. Immediately, I start to cry as I see the rescue squad inside my house so I ran down the stairs as quickly as I could. That only led me into our living room floor where my dad was laying with a monitor hooked to him while holding my mom’s hand. I start asking questions, “What’s wrong with dad? Is he going to be okay?” As the crew of the rescue squad carries him out the door, he grabbed my hand and said, “I love you, be strong.” The tears rolled down my face as I watched my dad being loaded into the ambulance, not knowing if I would ever see him again, hear his voice, or just hug him. Waiting with my nana to hear from my mom, Tammie, felt like an eternity. Minutes felt like hours, and nothing could ease my mind of bad thoughts. Finally after a couple hours had passed, my mom called. “What did she say? Is daddy okay?” I said worriedly.
Nana replied with a worried look, “Get your coat, we have to go now.” The drive to the hospital was dreadful, staring out the window remembering every good memory I had shared with my dad up until this point. We walk into the hospital looking for my mom, only to be led back where the rest of my family was. No one would tell me anything, I don’t know if it was the fact they couldn’t look me in the eyes to say the truth or if they just couldn’t stop crying long enough to do so. “Someone tell me where my daddy is,” I said angrily. My mom came around the corner with tear filled eyes, I lost it. I hit my knees, covering my face with my hands. I couldn’t believe it, my dad was gone.
My father, Edmond “Dick” Leon Wilhelm was born on April 12th, 1963 in the small town of Lexington, Va. He stood around five feet two inches, had dark hazel eyes, a dark brown beard with a touch of grey highlights, had the most generous heart of any man and of course the husband to my amazing mother. When seen with my dad, we often got compliments on how our smiles curved to the left just the same, and how our eyes had the same hazel color. He had been a construction worker for over 20 years. This man wasn’t only a father or husband, but always a friend. He was always helping others and giving his time to those who needed it even if he didn’t have it. An advent hunter, best describes him. Never once did he miss a day of hunting, some of those days I got to experience that with him. I remember one of our deer scouting fiascos, where we had just got our first four wheeler and decided to go out on the farm.When we got there he said, “Okay girls, I want Kambray in the front on the brush guard since she’s the smallest and Reba in behind me.” As we had been riding basically all day, up and down the hills and around through the woods. Dad starts to head back to the truck to load the four wheeler up, I’m on the front criss cross applesauce while holding onto the bars. He starts to head down a hill, as he turns around to say something to my sister my hands give out and I’m laying in front of the four wheeler. My dad almost ran right over top of me! I get up and look at him, we both start bursting out laughing and he says, “Don’t tell your mom about this, She’ll have my tail for letting you ride like that.”
Death is not something that blows over with time, but rather it becomes a part of you and your life moving forward. You won’t simply “get over it.” You’ll be reminded daily that they’re not there anymore, and each time you remember that, it becomes a little more real, and sometimes it’ll feel like a major punch in the gut. When somebody talks about their dad or their parents, it’s the first thing that comes to my mind. Growing up without a father is one of the hardest things I’ve had to go through as a child. He was a big part of my childhood, moulding my life and values and now suddenly, he’s not here to see me make major life decisions. I lost not only a father, but my best friend. There was never a time we weren’t laughing, it was mainly because he’d be driving and trying to sing to me even tho he couldn’t care a tune in a bucket. We always sang “My Little Girl,” by Tim McGraw, it was kind of our song and we always said it would be our father daughter song at my wedding. We did absolutely everything together, he taught me all about how to be a good person even when people aren’t so good to you. I remember when I was a little girl, about six years old my dad would always take me to the barn for my riding lessons. He always stood outside the arena and watched me with the biggest smile on his face. He knew what made me happy and he made sure he was involved every single day.
We had this tradition, on my birthday every year at 8 a.m he would call me from work saying, “Happy Birthday kiddo, stop growing up on me. I love you.” I don’t know what hurts more knowing that he isn’t going to call or still waiting for him to anyway. After a while, events in my life started to seem like they were happening outside of me. It was like I was watching myself live from an outside point of view. I became reckless because it didn’t seem like I was the one living my life. I also had a sense that my dad was looking out for me, so I felt I had some superwoman power that allowed me to be dumb with little consequences. My dad protected me in life, so I believed he had some omnipotent power to protect me in death.When my dad passed I was broken in a way. I’ve spent the last 6 years since his death trying to piece myself back together, and make sense of life without my best friend. I’m still figuring things out, but at least I had the chance to know him. But there are so many things I miss about him like the way he smiled or the way his eyes would shine while talking about my mom. Things that went missing when he left me basically was my happiness and my will to do everyday life. His smile, laugh and genuine soul is what kept me going, and they were no longer here. The emptiness I feel without having my father isn’t a only occurs in certain moments kind of feeling, it’s an everyday life feeling. My father missed my senior prom, his little girl all dressed up in a beautiful gown waiting to take pictures with him just to realize he wasn’t actually around to do so. I had to pose with a photograph of my father that day just to make sure he didn’t miss the most important day of my high school career. Every year just around Thanksgiving is when the emptiness would hit a little harder than usual. Every year my dad and i would be up at 3 a.m getting ready to hid out to Kerrs Creek, VA to deer hunt, this has been a tradition ever since i was about 6 years old. I’d follow in behind him as we walked up the hill to our hunting blind, we’d get inside and take a sit. He’d always be the first to fall asleep leaving me to watch for deer. After his death hunting wasn’t the same, i’d constantly be looking to the left of me in our deer stand looking for his smiling face just to find an empty chair. It never did get any easier, i finally had to stop doing the thing i enjoyed most because not having him beside me felt less of a tradition. Hunting was a big thing for us, always has been. That’s the area that lacks the empty feeling of not having him more than any other. The good days left as soon as he did, the feeling of being genuinely okay with life wasn’t there anymore. His voice still lingers through my head every now and then. Sometimes i feel his touch or hear his laugh, it breaks my heart knowing i’ll never get him back.
A year after my father’s death my mother had met an old friend at a party we had went to at Glen Maury Park in Buena Vista, Va. They had known each other since they were in high school, but had not reconnected until this moment. Davey Dooley of Lexington, Va ended up stealing my mother’s heart that night. They started seeing each other more frequently before I got to meet him. When I first met Davey he was letting me ride his horses around the farm his father owned. Davey went to climb on the back of the horse bareback and rolled over on the other side making my mom and I laugh. He showed me around and let me get to know him a little before he ended up asking my mom to move in with him. Next thing I know I’m picking up my life in downtown Buena Vista, to move on a 20 acre farm land just outside of town. I was obviously okay with this knowing he allowed me to get four dogs, a horse and a pet mini pig. The past 5 years of being a part of someone else’s family has been an experience. I’ve gained an extra grandparent, two aunts, a sister, a brother, and at least 7 cousins. Everything happens for a reason, and the past few years I’ve told myself this is what my dad would want. He’d want us to find our own happiness.