It’s been 9 months since my father died. As someone whose friends seem to be having babies every other week, 9 months seems significant. It’s enough time to grow a human being, but is it enough time to get over the loss of one?
In a word: no.
I had hoped it might be enough time for me to grow a brain that can comprehend this world without him. Some days it seems ok. Memories elicit a smile along with the ache. But time, while healing, is also brutal, and since his death, holidays and special events have hit with the force of a late-summer hurricane.
Dad was there for all my firsts, for all my sister’s firsts, for my children’s firsts: birthdays, Thanksgivings, Christmases, anniversaries, my first Mother’s Day. It seems wrong for the calendar to keep moving without him.
But it does, and it is a struggle to remember the joy that should accompany these new firsts. To weep through happy occasions would seem to dishonor my father–he wouldn’t have wanted his memory to cast sorrow on days that should be joyous. Yet dancing doesn’t exactly seem appropriate, either.
My first birthday without Dad was two months and one day after he died. It was not happy. I burst into tears when my in-laws sang and brought over a lighted cake. Christmas was different—we were hosting my family, so I held it together using the time-honored tradition of stuffing my feelings down somewhere in the vicinity of my appendix and then attempting to pickle them with large quantities of alcohol.
Then we visited my in-laws after the New Year. Their tree was still up, but so was ours, so I didn’t pay it any mind. Until one morning when my mother-in-law announced that it was time for presents. It was a surprise Christmas part II. We’d sent our gift to them in advance, and I hadn’t even thought about the possibility of a Christmas-like event. Sounds of wrapping paper tearing yanked forth sobs, even the ones that were down there by my appendix, soaking in bourbon with leftover fruitcake, and I tried to stuff them down again, but my soul was like a floodplain, soaked and unable to absorb any more. I tried to at least cry quietly, but my brother-in-law noticed.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered, trying to be inconspicuous. I almost laughed. My brother-in-law may be a psychiatrist, but he’s still a man and from Mars.
“I just really miss my dad,” I mouthed back. He still looked a bit confused. A lot of people do. It had been a whole three months since his death—shouldn’t I have been fine?
Since then, we’ve had my mother’s birthday, Mother’s Day, what would have been my parent’s 39th anniversary, my sister’s birthday, and Father’s Day. The last three occasions were stacked up in a period of eight days. Each one was difficult, and memories I thought were totally parsed have floated back to the surface.
I don’t know how to prepare for the nebulous, blindingly hot days of this summer, when, a year ago, I was spending almost all my weekends at my parents’ house, watching Dad get weaker and weaker. I truly dread Labor Day and the first anniversary of Dad’s death. He collapsed and was hospitalized on Labor Day last year, and died two weeks later.
As my father would say, I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. In the meantime, this weekend is the 4th of July. And I’m going to concentrate really hard on memories of running around our front yard with my sister, waving sparklers at the fireflies while my parents watched and laughed. I’m going to try to remember that time when our family was whole and young and healthy, and be grateful to God that these memories are mine to treasure.
There aren't any words that can really bring healing to your soul on this one. I just wanted to thank you for being so honest. Loosing someone is probably the hardest thing we have to endure in life and it's really not fair how quickly people expect you to deal with it and move on.
Bless you. I'm sure that if your Dad is looking down on you right now, it's with quiet, sincere pride and that he knows you love him.
Thanks, girls. It's been a tough month, and I do apologize for the blog vacation. Just needed a digital break for a bit.
this was beautifully written. and i'm sorry that's all i can think to say right now…
but if you want to chat i'm always available.
My father died three years ago this summer. Time is a healer. It is. But it's in YOUR own time, not anyone else's. Sometimes I still can't believe he's gone. He didn't even get to meet two of my kids.
Treasure the memories you have and I hope someday you'll be able to remember them with more smiles than tears.
Sending you lots of prayers and hugs.
I'm so sorry…there is no timeline for grief. I remember after my 1st miscarriage, months later, I was still so devastated and my mom became frustrated with me one day and said, “Just get over it already”.
It may take several more months for you to fully come to terms with the loss of your father. And, honestly, the pain will always be there but it won't hurt as badly as time goes by.
You have an entire lifetime of happy memories with him…you just take your time and grieve on your own schedule. Sending many hugs your way.
My sweet old friend,
I don't think we're meant to “get over” death. Ever. It is supposed to hurt. It is a sign that this life here is not all there is, and that at our core we long for heaven. Praise God that there will be a time when all our tears are wiped away and there is no hurt, no pain, no death. I'm praying that you will feel free to grieve and leave your poor appendix alone.
I'm so, so sorry. I don't know what to say except I'm sending good thoughts your way. It's clear that your father was a dearly loved man. Hugs to you.
Missed you. I'd hug you if I could.
@KLZ, Megan, Helene, Shell, I hereby consider myself to be mentally hugged by all of you. Thanks.
And again, sorry about the blog break, but I just needed it.
@Elizabeth, you're completely right. Thank you for reminding me that we are not of this world, and that there's a reason we'll never be completely comfortable here. God is good and we do long for heaven. There is such unimaginable strength in faith, and I'm thankful for it, because I truly could not do this alone.
@Cheryl, I'm so sorry for your loss. And thank you for your kind words. I don't know what my timeline will be, but I'd like to think that not ignoring the grieving process will help shorten it.
@ericka, I'll take “beautifully written” any day, especially coming from you. Don't worry about not knowing what to say. Most people don't. And I don't write these posts with the expectation that everyone will know what to say. It's more of a healing exercise for me, with the unexpected benefit that sometimes people comment in incredibly kind and unexpected ways.
@Poppy, again, thanks for the compliment on the writing. You're right; it is amazing how cathartic it can be.
@Rebekah, thank you for your comment and for appreciating the honesty. This is a healing exercise for me, but I know it is hard for a lot of people to read, especially those who knew my father.
Love to all,
Angie
I'm so very sorry for your loss. Your post is an eloquent tribute to someone who was obviously a wonderful father and a great man.
I absolutely adore my dad and will feel like my heart has been ripped from my chest when he is not with me anymore. I am so sorry you have had to endure such tremendous pain. Reading your post helps me put into perspective feelings my dear friend may be having. One year ago this month her father drowned. Last week, her mother died. She adored her parents. They were very, very close. I thank you for this post because it reminds me that everything will remind her of them for a very, very long time. Just this past weekend, the sermon I heard at our church was about dying. The first thing the pastor stressed was that we are supposed to mourn. We are supposed to take time to mourn and not supposed to be “over it” just because the world continues to move forward. The next thing he said was that we are to honor them- pay tribute to them in thousands of ways the rest of our lives. The last was to imitate them. Imitate the wonderful ways in which they lived so that they live on in us. It was a timely message for me. Sorry I got off track. I just want you to know, even though we've never met and this is the first time on your blog, I am deeply sorry for the loss of your dad and will remember this post long after I have left it!
Hi! I'm new to your site via the “I'm Living Proof That God Has A Sense Of Humor” blog and appreciate so much of what you've said. My Mom passed away when I was 22 and my Dad when I was 42. Guess what? I still miss them…it's just not as intense now (I'm now 55) and the good memories rush in quicker than the searing pain of losing them. Holidays have their moments, but I plan for that and give myself private time to have a mini meltdown and then move on.
Will be back to visit! Love your sense of humor – your bucket list had me almost falling off my chair laughing…at work…not so good.
Ciao!
Guerrina in CT
waters7989@yahoo.com