I lost my Dad just over two years ago. I was there when he passed away. I watched him. I told him it was okay to let go; all the while, I was dying inside.
His death was the single most debilitating experience of my life. It felt as if the ground beneath me had given way. Nothing made sense or seemed to contain purpose. The blurry empty feeling followed me through those auto-piloted days of making arrangements. Everything felt irrelevant. Nothing mattered anymore. I wondered why we bothered…any of us. The pain was overwhelmingly immense. It was so excruciating that I wanted to disappear forever.
For a split second in time, I reasoned that my husband would be okay and maybe grateful not to have me so sad all the time. Everyone would be. Except my son. I couldn’t allow my own grief to become his.
I held onto him so tightly; I felt he could save me, somehow. Ultimately, he did. He knew Grandpa was gone and he consoled me as only a 3 1/2 year old can. He hugged me and told me he loved me. He told me he missed Grandpa, too. He would ask me where he was and when he was coming back.
When I finally fell asleep at night, it was only after I had cried and my face was swollen with grief. I would relent and fall asleep after I swallowed a bit of surrender. Each night a glass of water and a small round yellow pill. It became a pattern. I knew that it needed to stop.
The cloudiness never ceased. My son, who was always an early riser, would climb into bed each day saying, “Move over, Daddy!” There was no time to cry or think about loss. There was only his day ahead. His day filled with laughing, playing and simplicity.
I still remember being thirteen and seeing my Dad’s face at my Grandfather’s funeral. It was vacant and bereft. My Dad looked like he had lost his best friend. And he did. One of them, anyway. I was still here and he knew that. And he loved us all so much that he pushed his way through it. That’s how I see it looking back. He still assisted my baseball coach. He still took us to the shore. We were still the most important people in his world, and he never let us forget that. We even had Christmas. But it was all different. Our family had been fractured by loss.
My Dad had a relationship with his father much like we did. We were father and son and we were friends. My Dad truly respected my opinion. He was proud to look to me regarding the latest technology or travel reviews. We shared stock tips. He still wouldn’t eat sushi which I found odd because he had eaten raw clams for as long as I remembered. We talked about family and the past. Sometimes we spoke about being Dads. The one regret I have about having children late in life is the time my parents will not have with them.
My Dad was thrilled at the birth of our son. As I am gay, he probably held out little hope that I would have ever children. He told me, “You need to cherish every moment with your son because it goes so fast. I wish I could get every moment back with you and your sister.” Those words resonated in me. Maybe that’s why I have over 30,000 pictures of my kids. I spoke with him so often that on any given day he could tell you where I was even though we were 2800 miles apart.
When we found out he was sick, my Dad told me he just wanted to make it until my son was 13, so he would always remember his Grandpa. He didn’t make it to my son’s fourth birthday. And, he never met our daughter, his only granddaughter. I still reach for the phone to talk to him.
The intermittent time I have had to grieve was not enough. I needed to fall into a dark and empty well and find my way out into the light again. When you have a child you are not allowed to grieve for a prolonged period. Even though I knew I was fortunate to have my son and my husband, the deepening loss remained.
I sought help because that’s what I was told to do. My sadness was easy to read if you were over ten years old. I wasn’t the same person anymore. I never would be. The therapist agreed with me about everything. His amenable responses to everything only made me feel placated. This wasn’t helping. I “broke up” with my therapist telling him I needed some time. I never went back.
I am still buried deep in the well sometimes. But, my children and my husband keep me out of it most of the time. I don’t think I will ever fully get over the loss of my Dad. It will be with me forever.
Children are truly a gift to keep us moving forward. I am so grateful I have them and my husband. I cherish EVERY moment with my family but I still wish I could get every one of those moments back with my Dad. Our children will know him through me, I promise. They will see him in my heart and in themselves.
I miss you every day, Dad.