Wow!!! You either came back for the third in my gut-wrenching journey or you are new to this blog and hopefully will be compelled to read the first two parts of this series, along with the previous blogs that are much lighter, I promise. Just know, this is me, writing my greatest pain out there for you my dear reader, hoping my pain will help others make sense of either their coworkers’ pain, their friend’s pain, or even their own pain. Grief is both universal and personal, everybody has many similarities, but we all manage it differently. In January 2022, I came into my place of work on a Tuesday morning. It was the day after Martin Luther King’s birthday and it just felt very hostile in the plant. No one was being difficult and workwise, it was a great day. But there was this oppressive cloud just hanging over the facility. The next day, the husband and wife owner did not come in. I spoke to the wife, but it wasn’t until I left that day that I discovered that Pete had succumbed to a long-term illness he had been suffering from for years. Those close to him knew it, but many, such as myself, had no idea. It was not until months later that I learned that we had almost lost him previously. Pete, apart from my brother, was the best dad I ever saw in action with his children. His oldest son worked with him and although they did not have a sunshine and roses relationship, the deep love Pete had for him was undeniable. When I would hear Pete hold court with his three daughters in his office, talking about history or anything you can imagine, all three daughters who had a 10-year age gap, were included and active participants. Pete’s youngest son would come in and talk shop with his dad, discussing what was quality product and even giving suggestions. He was his father’s right-hand man in this area. Farm life is demanding work, and the kids all participated. They not only participate, but they are also students who excelled in school and play sports. I have been to some of the kids’ games, and these are wonderful kids. During the next three months, Pete’s widow and I would talk a lot. I would try to comfort her and take any burden I could from her plate. It was during this time that I became friends, not just a worker, with Tara. I protected her ferociously and tried my best to protect her from customers who would ask completely inappropriate questions. Sidenote here-Please, unless you will sit in the family section of a funeral, just offer your sympathy or understanding. Too many people asked questions that broke us all. I work at a place that is a big family, this is my tribe. When people, especially those we only know from the context of them coming into the store, asking for all kind of details or either through actions or statements telling a widow that they don’t think she can handle the place she helped build so they take their business to a competitor, FUCK YOU!!!!!!! Sorry, that little F-Bomb should be the only one directed at people personally. When you live in a small town, yes, people are going to know your business, but that does not mean you can go in and demand answers and intrude into their lives. Although the bulk of the community backed the family up and were there in a way that let me know my move to a town of eight hundred from Baltimore City was the right move, I hope the inappropriate ones are haunted by their actions. Because the family is. Now, I am moving to the one loss that is the reason for the whole series. I will start at the beginning. My boss’s widow usually worked at their small store on Saturdays. After his death, I took over working most Saturdays. It was a change from my normal job as an Office Manager and it felt good to help to support another person going through a pain, I hoped I would never feel. It was on Saturday, April 2, 2022, that I worked my normal shift. It is arduous work and I usually left there exhausted and took the rest of the evening to relax but I felt energetic. I did a little extra store cleaning before leaving and then I hit both grocery stores in town to do grocery shopping. Now, my wife at this time is working in New York so I have the house to myself. I got a phone call from my brother within seconds of putting the last bit of groceries away. “Wow, I don’t know how to tell you this. Um, Autumn was in an accident, she is being air lifted to the hospital, she has a lacerated liver and …” the rest of what he said was a blur. Autumn was my mother’s first grandchild out of two, both of my brothers. I felt dizzy and didn’t know what to say. I told him I would be there as soon as I could get there, even though I live in New Hampshire and he lives in York County, PA. I was told that Autumn was being air lifted to the hospital for a three-hour surgery. Her boyfriend was driving, and he was hurt but Autumn’s side took the impact. He would call me back with an update. I immediately called my wife, scared to death. She got on some clothes, threw some things into a bag, and was on her way to me within 15 minutes. It was a 6-hour drive. About 30 minutes later while talking to my mother, both of us in a panic, my brother called my mother. I let her go, trying to prepare myself for what was to follow. Moments later, my brother called me back with my mother on the line and I heard the words I had feared and still do not believe: She didn’t make it. I was in my living room when he uttered those words and for a second, I had no bones below my waist. I collapsed to the floor. I laid on my living room floor, crying and screaming for my sweet Autumn girl. The pain my heart felt at that moment, and every moment when I think about it is truly a pain in the heart. But not a squeezing pain, I wish. It is more someone with long nails scooping it out of the chest cavity with razor sharp fingernails, not taking care not to scratch and scrap the heart, then carelessly toss it around before shoving it back in incorrectly and forcing a fit. My mother received this information while at her mother, my Granny’s, hospice bedside. Luckily for my mother, there was a social worker present, as this was a hospice center. My aunts were also coming to the hospice later that night and my mother had to tell the staff not to tell them about Autumn. And that was because of Autumn’s younger sister. Her younger sister was away that weekend at a youth group retreat. The pastor, who Autumn’s mom worked for, went and picked up Autumn’s younger sister and got her back home where my brother had to do the second worst thing he probably had to do in his life, and that was tell this beautiful 13-year-old that her sister had passed. I to this day do not know how he had the strength to do that, and I feel forever in his debt that he could. Imagine having two daughters when you wake up in the morning and then having to tell the one that the other is no more. Neither can I. When I called my wife back and told her, she had me call our neighbors to sit with me. We lucked into moving next door to a couple from Texas, yes in New Hampshire, who were retired from the police force. The husband specifically had been trained in crisis/grief management and was able to help me through the next 5 hours. I do not remember much except holding two pictures. One was of my mother, my brother and his wife, Autumn and her sister, and myself at Disney World. The other was a photo collage that Autumn had given me Christmas 2021 of pictures either I had taken of the two girls or pictures with me and them. It was from the moment I received it the most treasured gift I had gotten from the girls. My wife and I left the next morning and drove to my brother’s house. That night we met her boyfriend, the one who was driving. He had been released from the hospital after some head stitches and some other relatively minor injuries. When I met Autumn’s beau, I met the sweetest man I had met in a long time that I could tell worshipped Autumn and he was nothing more than an unlucky cog in the machine of life. What happened with that accident was a freak accident. Autumn’s beau was not speeding, was not distracted, and was taking Autumn to work in a twenty-five mile an hour zone. It was truly a no-fault accident and the thoughts of what was happening in the car, the conversations, the vibe, haunts me. I know it was one of happiness and possibilities that was about to end in the most tragic way. On the morning the family and a dear family friend who is a part of the family, met at my brother’s house to head to the funeral parlor to make arrangements when my mother told me that my grandmother had passed. Granny, one of the strongest women I know, had passed after living ninety-one fabulous years. One thing that continues to haunt me is imaging Granny dying and going to the next plane of existence and seeing Autumn. The happiness and heartbreak of this imagined reunion that took place breaks my heart repeatedly, every time I think of it. I decided at the funeral home while making arrangements that I wanted to get a memorial tattoo for Autumn ASAP. My wife and I went to four different tattoo parlors until we could find one to fit us in prior to the funeral. I now have tattooed on my left inner forearm a more that Autumn had written to me when she was around 9 years old, that hung on my refrigerator, and I had even posted on Facebook. I knew that the tattoo would be something that I would not notice most of the time but when I do, it makes me smile. “If your allergic to cats then why do you have 3. THAT’S STUPID AND DUMB.” Autumn, like many in our family, had a wicked sense of humor and loved to tease me. Those two sentences sum up our relationship and show the silliness and wonder that was Autumn. In fact, it was done so well, her boyfriend saw it and immediately knew it as Autumn’s handwriting. Thank you to my tattoo artist. Well, my dear reader, it looks like one more installment is in order. This has been quite a draining yet healing experience writing and sharing these blogs on grief and I hope that others read and feel less alone. Until next week, thank you so much for helping make my dream come into focus.