Nitty Gritty Dirty Grief

What do I tell the parking attendant?

Did you know that the Douglass County Coroner sells t-shirts?

I find this very odd. You walk into the office and the t-shirts are right there….long sleeve, short sleeve, even a hoodie.

Which begs the question….Who buys a Douglass County Coroner t-shirt?

I can only imagine the conversation…..Hey, you’re heading to the coroner’s office? Pick me up a t-shirt, will you?

I had to go by to finish up paperwork and the people were quite nice and very compassionate….

despite the odd t-shirt thing.

I also had to go to Children’s Hospital which I thought would be difficult, but it was really very healing. I have decided that Children’s will always be a part of our lives….good place, good people.

Driving up to Children’s, I realized their was one person who didn’t know about Samantha, one very important person….the parking lot attendant.

I was a bit of a panic about this….so much that I considered parking at University Hospital just so I didn’t have to tell him.

The parking lot attendant is wonderful. He is older with a lovely smile, kind eyes, broken English and he remembers those who come and go quite a lot. Every time we were in, he would ask;

“Hello Miss, everything okay?”

“Oh, we got admitted last night. I don’t have a ticket.”

“It’s okay. Baby okay?”

“I think she’ll be okay.”

“Good, good, have a good day Miss.”

He would hold a conversation with eights cars behind me. He just wanted to know that we were alright.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him about Samantha; especially in the drivers seat with eager parents waiting in line to get out of the lot.

“Hello Miss,” he said today glancing into the empty back seat.

I gave him a big smile “Hello, how are you?”

“Good, you okay?”

“I’m okay.” And I drove off. My response wasn’t a lie or hiding the truth. I just couldn’t see that sweet face turn sad….

Especially with a minivan on my tail.

7 thoughts on “What do I tell the parking attendant?”

  1. I know what you mean, Heather. Today, I have to talk with the woman who cuts my hair and the woman who gives me my pedicures. They have always been so kind, worried about Samantha and her family. I've been worried for two days about this. I called, left a message, just to give them advance notice. But I'm sorry to make their day sad and sorry to have to rely the details again. I keep thinking of who else I haven't told. Love, Cynde


  2. Oh, he is a nice man, isn't he? There are people I run into that still just know me from “before” and sometimes I don't tell them either. I'm not sure who I'm sparing there. Oh and weird about the shirts – that surely can't be a big moneymaker, no?


  3. It’s funny the things you think of. When I heard you were going back to Children’s yesterday I wondered how you would react. Would you park in the same spot, go through the same doors, ride the same elevator. How would you react to the people, some would know about Samantha and some would not. Then I thought of the parking attendant. I was not at all surprised to see the subject of your blog this morning.


  4. I absolutely love this post; how you've captured the poignant in everday life yet again. And I can just picture you there in your car-having this internal battle with yourself. I love your stories.Alissa


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