Life, its a funny thing…
One year ago, today, I lost my father. I saw him the day before. We shared a wonderful afternoon of playing with my dogs and my nephew. In retrospect, I wish I had held on a lot longer when he hugged me goodbye. Of course I had no idea that it would be the last time.
Maybe I’m still a bit in shock because I swore this man would out live me. I can’t believe that it has been this long, really. I’m just starting to wade through the waters of how you go about being without someone who had such an important role in your life for this long.
Maybe it was because I would go a day or two, maybe sometimes three or four without talking to him. But, never more than a week. Never three hundred and sixty five days (and counting)…
The truth is, I’m still sorting out what this feeling really is. It seems that all I am finding is that its easier to tell what the feeling is not. The feeling isn’t a suffocating feeling of “what am I going to do now”, though its all so very deeply painful, still. The feeling isn’t a constant weight on every thing that I do. Yet theres an underlying reminder when a certain sound, smell or image will trigger a memory. And this is not something that can be compared to anything I have ever experienced before. It comes in waves, and it is a weird feeling most of the time.
It still catches in my throat when I’m going on with my normal life. And that’s the key right there… That normal life? Yeah, it returns a lot faster than your heart can mend. But that’s what life teaches you — That it does go on. With or without that person.
What gets me the most is that I was at a point in my life where I got along with my father in new and exciting ways. I looked forward to and enjoyed similar activities and conversational topics. More than I ever had before. I feel as though that was cut too short. And now I don’t get to experience that and run with it to the potential that it deserved. I wont lie — I don’t think that I knew my dad the way that I should have. And I feel immense guilt over missing the opportunities that I could have had to try to tighten the bond we had. But let me be clear, that does not make it hurt any less to lose him because the one thing I do know about my father is that he loved me and my sister unconditionally and in the deepest way he knew how.
The 5th of December will always be a day that I dread. Not because that day is any more sad or touching, but because its now my personal reminder that life is short and fragile.
I read that there’s stages of grieving. I’d like to think that I am able to bundle up my feelings and categorize them into each step as I’m strategically working though the process. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and finally acceptance. Sounds simple enough right? And sure, I’m denying that I have no idea what I’m doing through all of this. I’m certainly angry that I’m 26 and my father isn’t here and that its left me feeling a constant fear of what painful thing could be coming next. I think that I fluctuate between the place of wishing that I could change this and down right depression. So, maybe I am on my way to acceptance…maybe. But, I know myself well enough to know that its never that simple. It takes time, and lots of it.
Papa, I know that you’re with me everyday. I can feel you there. I learned that its not like they portray in the movies that theres an amazing epiphany that you show yourself to me. I know it from the quiet, simple moments. And I like that because that is your style, your way of doing it. I hope you know that I heard you that day, when we left the dog park, telling me that you were proud of me as if you knew you had one last chance to say it to me. I know that you’re proud of me for finally springing for my diploma (I’ll be framing and hanging it soon!). I know that you’re happy to see me finally making my health a priority (OK, you’re still waiting on me to stop smoking — soon, I promise). I know you love that I’m finally pursuing photography. You know, I keep your picture and the mini tripod you gave me with me all the time. And I know that you’re glad that I have a warm and loving house to come home to everyday. I wish you could be here to see it in person though. I’d save you a spot for dinner any time you wanted.
“Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.”
— Edna St. Vincent Millay
I was told that facing such a big loss is an event that shapes you. And I must agree. I have grown up more and felt more mature in the last 12 months than ever before. I have found strength and perseverance in places that even surprise me. I have not shut down, or closed myself off from the path that I know I am supposed to be following. I’ve certainly hit many bumps along the way, but with each one of those comes a lesson, and token of what I can change and how I can grow. I will remain strong, Dad, and keep the memory of you alive.
“When we lose someone we love it seems that time stands still. What moves through us is a silence… a quiet sadness… A longing for one more day… one more word… one more touch… We may not understand why you left this earth so soon, or why you left before we were ready to say good-bye, but little by little, we begin to remember not just that you died, but that you lived. And that your life gave us memories too beautiful to forget. We will see you again some day, in a heavenly place where there is no parting. A place where there are no words that mean good-bye.”
-Irish funeral prayer
