My dad with younger versions of my kids
My dad passed away five months ago today. In the past five months, I have experienced loss and grief in a way that I never had before. It has been an eye-opening experience.
If you know me in real life or if you see me from day to day, you probably think that I am doing fine. Let me assure you that I am not doing fine. I am, however, expert in keeping up appearances. I still show up everywhere on time, dressed nicely and wearing make-up. I smile and laugh and make conversation. I am very good at compartmentalizing and I pride myself on fulfilling all my responsibilities. I don’t want to seem like a drama queen or draw attention to the fact that I am grieving.
But perhaps only my husband understands that I still cry several times a week about my father. I am struggling on the inside while managing to look like I am doing well on the outside. Although months have passed, it is impossible for me to let go of my anger and sadness at the loss of my father. As the weeks and months pass, my sense of how great the loss is only grows. The grief is no better. I am only more used to feeling this way.
Whenever my husband has a dilemma at work, or the kids hit a new milestone or I get a new opportunity, I wish so much that my father were here to give us his advice or to celebrate with us. My dad was not a bit player in our lives. He liked to know everything that was going on, especially with the kids. He was someone we consulted about all of our problems and decisions. His absence therefore looms tremendously large.
What’s more, I still find it hard to believe that he can really be gone. How can he be gone when I can hear his voice in my head or see the sandals he bought for JR in May? It feels like he was just here. There is a part of me that simply does not accept that I will never see my dad again. Part of me thinks that this is a test of some kind and that if I wait long enough, my dad will reappear. I wonder how long it takes for that magical thinking to go away. Maybe it never fully does. One friend told me that although her dad died ten years ago, when she is at her step-mother’s house and the phone rings, she thinks for a split-second that it’s her father calling.
One thing that I have learned about grief is that it is not the occasions that you dread that really get you. The worst moments are the ones that sneak up on you. I was dreading Thanksgiving, in part because it was the first big holiday without my dad and in part because it was my first trip ever to the house in Florida without my dad. But Thanksgiving was not nearly as bad as I expected. I’m sure that because I was expecting the holiday to be hard, I succeeded in steeling myself against any possible breakdowns. What I didn’t expect was the breakdown that occurred a few weeks later when I found myself in the basement looking at my stash of jam. When my eye fell on the raspberry jam, I thought of my dad and started to cry. My dad loved raspberry jam best of all and I had sent him some just a few weeks before he died. My mom is not a big jam person, so that jar of jam is probably still in her fridge barely touched. So, how can my dad be gone when the jam I sent him is still there?
I know that I am a lucky person. Nothing that has happened has changed that knowledge. Sure, many people my age still have both of their parents. And my father died far too young. But to reach the age of 37, as I did, before experiencing this kind of grief is the mark of a lucky person. I am also lucky because I had the kind of close, loving relationship with my father that makes this loss so painful. So I don’t feel that my dad’s death is unfair or that it shouldn’t have happened to me.
What I do feel is that the loss of my dad is enormous. It is big and overwhelming and it has left with me such a sense of sadness and longing for things to be different. I don’t know what the next months will bring and I don’t know when, if ever, acceptance will come. This is my first time with grief. I only know that five months in, it is still really, really hard.
My sweet friend, I send you hugs. 2011 marked the 20th anniversary of my mother’s passing. For 19 years I said Kaddish and cried as if it were still the shiva period. On the 20th year I didn’t cry. And then I cried because I didn’t cry.
My mother has missed so much, and I have so few photos. But the memories are what sustain me. I can still hear her voice and there are times I believe I see her driving in the car next to me.
Don’t feel bad for missing your father now, in 5 years or in 25 years. That he meant so much is a blessing. Hold dear to those memories.
Thanks Sara. You always have so much wisdom to give.
I still have a voicemail on my phone that my dad left me. And it’s been a year.
That makes perfect sense to me. It’s nice to hear his voice I bet. I won’t let my mom take Dad’s voice off the answering machine, although it does give me chills to hear it
Dearest Emily,
I believe that rituals are very important, that is setting up times and places for your memories and for your loss. It can be as small as saying that in February, you will eat raspberry jam or that when you see the sunset, you will take a minute for your dad.
One issue is living “away from home” as we all do these days. Many of the people who see you every day don’t know about the huge burden you are carrying. If you lived where you grew up, there would be frequent opportunities to see the people and places you shared with your dad.
So, you need to create these opportunities — with friends or alone, with the children or with your husband.
Preserving and cherishing the special love keeps the relationship alive, no matter what you believe about “the hereafter.”
With love, Denise Terry
Denise, I think your comment is so true. We as a society have lost some of our rituals about grief and we are poorer for it. The poet Megan O’Rourke wrote a book on that very point about her mother’s death. I am trying to bring myself to read it one of these days.
I’m so sorry, Emily. I know there’s no way to make the grieving process any easier on you. I am just sending virtual hugs and hoping that you find acceptance as you continue to remember (always!) what a wonderful father you had. xo
Thanks Melisa.
Totally understand every word you wrote here. Thinking of you.
I know that you do understand. When I hear you talk about your dad, I get the sense that he was a remarkable man and that you admired him tremendously.
I’m so sorry the grieving process is taking such a toll on you. Take your time, and try to remember that your dad would want you to enjoy your life with your beautiful family.
Right you are. I know he would not want us to be sad, but his loss certainly warrants it. Thanks for your kindness.
My mother and father passed 13 months a part. My loss and sadness was palpable. My mom passed first and I realized that I was not only grieving for my mom but for the loss of the “entity” of my parents, which felt like an additional loss. My folks were very close and if you saw one you saw the other. I also could not imagine the grief my father was was suffering and every time I thought of him my heart broke all over again. One of the things that helped was when my oldest brother told me “Susie, whatever you needed from mom and dad they gave it to you before they left.” But, if the truth be told I would give anything to spend one more afternoon with the two of them sitting on the porch, sipping iced tea and just visiting. Emily, if you ever want to talk just let me know. Please take the time and allow yourself what you need during this difficult time.
Sue Ann, your comment is so insightful. I feel much the same way. Thanks for reading and for reaching out.
Losing a parent is so hard. I didn’t have quite as close a relationship with my father as you obviously enjoyed with your dad, but even now, 8 1/2 years after his death, he’s a frequent player in my dreams.
Are you going to grief counseling or a support group? It’s nice to have a safe place to feel sad–even fall apart–once a week.
All the best…
Thanks Alma. I am getting some professional support and it does help a lot.
My mother is still mourning the loss of her father five years after he passed away. I think what you are going through is very common. I know how important you dad was to you and I don’t expect that to have changed overnight, or in five months, or in five years. I think there will always be a little hole in your heart, but I pray it won’t hurt this much.