Life is full of moments that kind of come out of nowhere and blindside you ridiculously. Today I had one of those moments. The phone rang, just like it always does, and of course I answered it, just like I (almost) always do.

"Are you sitting down?" my mother asked.
"No, why?" I countered as I wandered back into my kitchen.
"John's dead." She said baldly. (FYI I hate to do the 'she said adverb' thing, but in this case, she did say it baldly)
"John who?" I asked, at first thinking John Schwingle the guy they get their jobs through from Lodgenet. And, admittedly I was more worried that she was going to say something horrific like, 'We've got a 1200 room job on Maui and Barry has to leave tomorrow at 4 am.' or something.
"Your father."

I feel like a shit. Upon hearing that my biological father was dead my first thought was "now I don't have to be afraid anymore" since I have been scared to death of him coming and kidnapping me since I was little because at some point when I was three that did happen. Then I found out that I'm his next of kin. Which freaked me out. I found alot of stuff out today. None of it terribly good news.

I spent most of the morning not knowing how to feel, feeling curiously detatched and wondering if I should feel sad or feeling guilty that I didn't feel sad. And asking questions. I have 2 siblings I wasn't really aware of.

But what is most sad is that I grew up only hearing horror stories about my father, I grew up terrified of him to the point that when I found out my mother had told him I was in England I had a panic attack because for the first time in my life (when I was in London) I felt safe because he had know way of knowing where I was, I didn't know his side of the family, and he died alone in his apartment. He died alone.

I feel guilty that I am glad it wasn't my mom and dad (stepdad but dad none the less.)I have spent a large part of the day being thankful that it wasn't my mom or dad who died, because I couldn't handle them dying. Especially not in March.

To make matters worse, this is what I saw when we walked into Schooners (a local bar) tonight. Foltz is my last name, it's kinda unusual, and it was my Father's last name. It kinda creeped me out. We were at the bar to scope out camera angles for a video we are doing of a concert put together by a friend of ours for his Senior project. (Yeah, we're a gazillion older than he is but he helped us with Roadkill, and he and his mother are 'good people' BUT ANYWAYS) What a wierd thing to see/notice.

My father was 45 years old and he died in his apartment, of unknown causes just as of yet, alone. And that makes me feel like crying.