My dad died three months ago today, and it has been an interesting experience for me. Mostly, I just felt numb at first. I flew and drove to the hospital where he was. When I looked down at him on the hospital bed and realized what how close we were to him dying, I couldn’t stop from crying. And I let tears flow. I stroked his hair and rubbed his hand, telling him thanks for being such a good father. Six hours later, he passed. I don't think he was conscious enough to hear anything I said but that’s okay.
I wasn't angry about the death, like some. Dad was 81 and had smoked since he was a teen, so I felt for him that he dealt with that debilitating habit. He tried to kick the habit but got enveloped by it.
Besides being reminded of that overpowering sense that there's nothing I can do about death, I went through a lot of emotions and was most sad to realize my dad’s not there to talk to anymore. That has left me feeling empty during quiet times.
I coped by talking to family and friends, getting lost in guitar playing (a love of mine) and sleep (which seems to heal more than I've realized). Somehow for me, those things eased the numbness and brought some sense of normalcy back.
Have you felt those things, too? How have you coped? And when do you get through it completely? I’d really like to know.
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6 comments:
I don't think you ever get through it completely. Nor do I think you want to. Wouldn't it be sad to look back and think "It's cool. I'm like, totally over it!"? Some of the emptiness can clear up as you fill it with other loved ones, but in the quiet times, conversations can still happen if you knew them well enough to know what they would say anyway.
Welcome to the "lost a parent" club, Timmie. You can't really understand it until you've lost one and you'll never get over not having him/them around. My father has been gone for 18 years. I miss him.
Shawn & Levi E, Your thoughts help greatly. I knew both of your dads and I, too, miss them.
Shawn - Your dad was like a brother to me and we laughed every time we were together.
Levi - The few times I met your dad, he had this twinkle in his eye that seemed to say, "Yeah, I've been where you are and you'll figure out life soon enough. Keep doing what you know to be right." I know he was a huge influence on you, my brother. Make him proud.
Tim-
I was about to comment on a recent loss of mine, and though it will never be the same, it's the biggest thing I've lost so far. I had a dream about a young man, a big one. He came home, and though he didn't die, the dream did. Murdered by reality. And, like you, I never realized how much something meant to me until it was almost gone and I cried and cried for minutes, hours, and now days. For my female brain connections are being cut, cautarized, or rewired to things that don't fit the same way. ouch. a lot ouch. But as I'm passing through what, at this point, is the hardest thing I've ever done, (and I have more to come OBVIOUSLY) I start to see that maybe certain things fit BETTER the new way, like its not a make shift saudering iron, but something divine.
I don't know how this relates to your dad, and it certainly doesn't answer your question...but I felt like writing it. I love you.
Val, Thank you for sharing your loss. In some odd way, it helps. And it made me write this. Hope this helps you as you move forward.
Don’t know why we have to feel pain
Or why empty feelings of loss
Don’t know what there is to gain
When hearts are torn and tossed.
Thank you for your love
Love from friends is the thing to do
Loving others gets us through
I know you’ll find another to fill the gap
This loss is getting you closer to the next him
Then the pain will heal fuller than expected
As you take the step to begin
Guess what Tim? You don't ever get over it. I lost my wonderful stepfather seven years ago and some days I remember his incredible sense of humor and his love for people and my heart soars. Other days, when I really need that phone call just hear him say, "Love you, bye," my heart breaks. Wonderful people who play such a big role in making us who we are aren't meant to be forgotten. They're meant to make us more wonderful for having known them.
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