It’s officially been four years since my dad died. I last publicly talked about it probably just over three years ago.[1]
After he died, I spent hours sifting through blogs, poetry, books – anything to find people who understand, who could tell me it would be alright. I wanted to know how they survived the grief because I felt like it was killing me.
Grief is ever-changing and different for each person. The only consistent thing about it is how much it sucks. It doesn’t matter if the loss is sudden or expected; a parent or a grandparent; a year ago or three months ago. Grief maims – it bites and burns and freezes and numbs. Sometimes it wanes a bit, only to come back and make you feel guilty for thinking you could move on.
No one can really understand what someone else’s mourning is like. But sometimes, I could find something that would click with my experience. So after watching too many of my friends lose people, I’ve decided to add
After four years without my dad, I’d like to say that I’m an expert at grief and that it doesn’t hurt anymore to think about him. I’m not healed, that’s for sure. I still get knocked down sometimes by how much I miss him. But I have gotten better. I talk about him a lot, and most of the time, it just feels warm. Like I’m keeping him with me.
I used to feel sick when I’d talk to someone and they’d say they could feel him around still. I couldn’t. I thought maybe he’d abandoned me for some cool ghost party, or even just to hang around someone less depressing than me. I tried so hard to be able to sense him
I was so used to him being there – texting me weird updates or photos of his mismatched shoes, or helping out at tennis practice, or playing music on Sunday mornings while he made pancakes. So when he wasn’t around anymore, I felt alone. I had friends and my family had pretty much tripled with how many people adopted me – but it wasn’t the same.
When I realized that I was forgetting details about him – his laugh, his smell, his favorite food – I fell apart. It felt like I was losing him again, and I was ashamed to admit it to people. It seemed like everyone else still had him in some way, and I was alone.
The truth is – I have a terrible memory for stuff like that. Details are bound to become fuzzy. I can’t remember what my preschool teachers looked like, but I can tell you that I liked them. And with my dad, I know that he was the best person in my life. I remember his stories, I remember how he made me feel: safe, important, capable.
Time does help (therapy, too). I’ve gotten much more practice at being okay without him – something that I didn’t have when he dropped me off (my first week at UCLA, I called him every day asking if I could come home). These last four years, I’ve been forced to grow up without him, but I’ve not grown away from being his daughter. I’ve changed, but into someone I know he’d be proud of.
This last month of traveling alone, it’s become easier to recognize just how much influence my dad still has on me, and how much he’s still around. Maybe not the way he is for other people, but that’s okay.
When I was first getting into writing, my dad would always tell me to write something funny, or something happy. He told me that pain and darkness are easy – easy to write about, easy to feel, but laughter and happiness are so much harder, and so much more important to share. So yes, that means that you all get stuck with my terrible jokes.
My dad was a big fan of note-taking and self-improvement. Our house was littered with notes and goals and ‘visualizing mantras.’ His favorite, that I was told pretty much every day was that I needed to “get comfortable being uncomfortable.” Looking back on the last four years, and forward to the itinerary I’ve sketched out for myself, I can feel him with me.
Grief is hard and confusing. It sucks, and it never really goes away. But it does get easier to cope with.
And you know what? I hope my dad does go to some cool ghost parties.
[1] I can promise you that it’s been way less time since I’ve talked about it in private – if you want to see a magic trick, watch how quickly I can bring a conversation around to my dad.
[2] And I’ve given myself a platform to do it with – you thought you’d signed up a normal travelogue, didn’t you?
Linda Hann says
Sampa and I are having breakfast at “THe sisTers”. We loVe anD miss you
Judi Slender says
you are very wise in so many ways when you write from your heart. Hope you will alWays listen with your heart. One is silver …the other gold❤️nana
charles Docherty says
So familiar those feelings and emotions….so well expressed. You covered it! Thanks for making me feel I was the only human who ever felt that which you described, and how you manage your feelings. We really must have a tete a tet if and when you get back to scotland.
With love and thanks
Charlie xxx
Charles DOcherty says
So familiar those feelings and emotions….so well expressed. You covered it! Thanks for making me feel I was NOT…..NOT…..the only human who ever felt that which you described, and how you manage your feelings. We really must have a tete a tete if and when you get back to scotland.
With love and thanks
Charlie xxx (and for having to correct my comment…an extra XX)