Friday, April 13, 2012

A Time To Mourn

My Dad is dead.

Great way to start a post, eh? Blunt. Cold. Harsh. Either a desperate cry for attention or a need to purge oneself of an inescapable and ugly truth. Maybe a little of both. I haven't figure out which yet.

What I do know is there is a cog missing in my life, an essential little piece of me that is no longer there. There are moments when the world seems okay, the sun shines, the air feels crisp and cool, I'll breathe in the scent of freshly baked cookies, and a little voice will whisper into my ear, I love you so much, Mommy.  The world feels do-able. And then, like a sharp knife in my gut, a single thought will leap out at me:
My Dad is dead.

Like a skipping record, it will repeat and the world will jerk out of focus. Much like the unforeseen cancer that spread throughout my father's body destroying everything in its path, the thought overwhelms me and brings me to my knees. I long to rebel against it. Demand the world stop and fix it. I feel small, helpless, lame. 

Mostly I feel stuck. I know I must move forward, yet how? I mean I sorta know how, but maybe I don't want to. Maybe I don't want that day when it's okay he's gone, when the world is more than do-able. Days when it doesn't feel so strange he isn't here anymore. Days when it feels alright to have fun. Days when words come easy and life is good. Days when I just forget. How can the world be without him here? It just doesn't seem possible and yet here I sit with the reality of it staring me right in the face. 

My Dad is dead.

And I realize with a sudden and swift intensity that I have two options-- to let this control me or to fight back against the desire to give up. For now, I know this is a time to heal, a time to weep, a time to mourn, a time to embrace, a time to mend, a time to be silent, a time to figure out what the hell just happened and try my darnest to make sense of it, or maybe just accept it. Accept the fact that on March 28th, 2012 I watched my father die right before my very eyes and the world twisted and warped and became something I was unprepared for, that I have no words for, that has changed me in ways I don't even realize yet, that has left me speechless and weak and wanting, that has left me silent.

16 comments:

  1. This stops my heart. I have reached the age where my peers are losing their parents with frightening regularity. I live far from both my mom and my dad, and every once in a while I all but hyperventilate at the thought of something happening to either of them and me not being able to get there in time. It becomes unfathomable to the point of terror, and it is that much worse knowing it is -- at least in some ways -- inevitable. I admire your bravery in writing this down, in saying it out loud, and I wish you every strength to get through your mourning.

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    1. Thank you, Dawn. I really don't know what else to say. Just thank you...

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  2. Wow. Caught between complimenting how wonderfully written this is, and sending you a gigantic cyber hug. I've never met you - but here comes the hug.

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    1. Hugs are always welcomed. Thank you.

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  3. Can't imagine how hard it has been for you. Wish I could give you a big hug and tell you how sorry I am. I'm always scared something is going to happen to my family when I'm so far away. Especially now with my sister fighting breast cancer. Stay strong and I'm sure things will get easier with time.

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    1. Your sister is in my prayers... and now I'm all verklempt! *hugs*

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  4. Ang - I know that there is nothing I can say that will help with these overwhelming feelings that everything has changed and that the world will never be the same again. How can life go on as it was before, now that he's not paticipating in it within his own little realm? How can the world at large carry on as though nothing is wrong? Why does the scene outside the window look exactly the same today when it is so clearly not? I know these feelings because I have felt them too when my own Darling Dad lost his battle with cancer at age 54. Tears flow down my cheeks as I write this, even 15 years later - I still love and miss him so. But I also know that there will come a time when you can think and talk about your father without distress, with happy melancholy, and pride with the knowledge that no-one else in the world ever loved him like you do, and that most imporantly he knows that as he watches over you. Take care to remember him often - it helps. Hugs.

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    1. Thank you for this beautiful comment. Truly, I have no words. Just thank you... *hugs*

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  5. *hugs* I'm so sorry you've had to go through this... I can't even begin to imagine. Stay strong.

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  6. I just read this... I was waiting because I did not want to break down. I love you

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  7. Found your blog through the Once Upon a Time comp and this title jumped out at me - I'm so sorry for your loss, writing helps believe me - I know you've found my blog and know some of my story but I can't imagine what it is like to lose your dad although my sons have lost theirs.
    Sometimes life is crazy and not how we want it to be, or think it should be. So unfair!
    Keep strong and keep writing - don't get sucked into jigsaw puzzles!
    Hugs from me too xxx

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    1. So I read your comment earlier and cried. I knew I needed a break. I just felt this lump swell up and realized I couldn't come up with anything coherent. I still feel the same. It's that choking feeling, ya know? The one that leaves a person feeling helpless and unable to think coherently.

      My brother is 15. Watching him loss our father... well... I can't imagine the loss your boys are experiencing. I know from both experience with other deaths in my family and watching a friend of mine lose the battle with cancer just a few years ago leaving behind two small boys that the pain never really goes away, the horror of the situation stays.

      I know there is hope. I smile freely, laugh loudly, and maintain a joy for life that I feel is only a proper tribute to those who I've lost, but I know with each loss life gets a tad bit dimmer and far too real. It's why the stories in my head are oh so very important.

      blah blah blah

      Thank you for your comment. And I too am so very very sorry for your loss. *hugs*

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  8. I'm so sorry for your loss, Ang. I lost some family members nearly a decade ago now, and some days I still catch myself thinking "oh, I should call or stop over and see how they're doing." And then I remember.

    Reading your post and your comments, I'm inspired by your bravery and your perspective. You're amazing. Take care.

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    1. All I've got is *hugs*... That and thank you for your wonderful comment. Oh and how about another *hug*

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