Tomorrow would have been my father's 62nd birthday.
He died when I was seventeen, a junior in high school. It was December 22nd. I was on the computer in the living room, my mom was at work, and my sister was in the shower. My dad was having severe chest pains, which was common, but this time he called 9-1-1. Doubled over in pain, he had me take over the call. They ambulance got there shortly, they put him on a stretcher, and took him away. He died in the ambulance. I will never in my whole life forget watching them push his stretcher out the front door and me not saying a word. I thought about saying "I love you!" but I didn't. I meant to. I guess I was thinking it would be more of a "See you later!".
My dad had health issues my entire life - surgeries on his knees, back, and several on his heart. I remember being a kid and my sister and I writing "YES" on one knee and "NO" on the other before surgery. Once, my dad had an aneurysm in his abdomen, which he found on his own, and used to roll around with his hand, before he knew what it was and had surgery. My dad was a recovering alcoholic (from before I was born) and battled a lot of issues in his life. He survived so many things that most people don't. He joked that God didn't want him and that "only the good die young, so I'll be around forever". I had grown to believe that, and that is why I did not initially panic when he was pushed out that door, the (second to) last time I saw him.
I'm not trying to make you sad, I just want you to have some background.
I was always an absolute daddy's girl. I idolized him my whole life. My father was kind, smart, and loving. He made friends with strangers everywhere we went. He had the greatest sense of humor and was always making everyone laugh. He had so much knowledge and life experience, so many stories. He cared about us fiercely. He loved classic rock and roll, gardening, and his family. He was very proud of us.
The worst moment of my entire life took place in my living room with my sister and my best friend. My mom called the hospital to see what was going on with my dad, and that is when they told her. We all broke down in the most hideous sobs, clinging to each other. I don't remember how it ended. It was unreal. I mostly remember staring straight ahead at the fireplace and sobbing the loudest, most horrible sobs. My father dying had always been my greatest fear, because he was the most important person in my world.
The second worst moment was going to the hospital to see him. My mom's boss insisted we all go see. I set one foot into the room, saw him for one moment, lifeless, his mouth open, he was propped slightly up. Then I turned and ran down the hall. I don't think he would have wanted me to have a memory like that.
The third worst moment was waking up the next morning. I remember how it felt to open my eyes, and see the white ceiling. We had slept in the living room. And then how it felt to remember that my dad had died, and to feel that punch in my gut again.
Those are pretty much my only memories of those weeks. I know that we were surrounded by loved ones most of those days, and that on Christmas morning, my mother, sister, and I had to sit and open all our gifts, included the ones intended for my father. I must have blocked that out because I really don't remember that much. I'm glad.
And from there, it just slowly got better. I guess. Time healing wounds and all.
The theme of this post, however, is not just darkness. I want to explore with you how I experience grief now, six years later, in ever-varying ways. Because you never ever stop grieving when you lose a loved one.
Sometimes I think of my father and feel sad. I feel that stinging, empty loss. I cry, usually alone in the car to an oldie's song that my dad had had some story about. I think about my wedding and him not being there and I think about how much I would have liked his advice. I think about how unfair it is.
Sometimes I think of my father and smile. I honestly, truly feel his presence, as if he is sitting beside me and is laughing. I sound sappy and spiritual but it's so real. As I get older I feel him with me and I feel him living inside me, as well. I feel his smile radiate out through mine, I see his eyes sparkling. I remember my science teacher telling me that my dad lives on because he exists in every cell in my body. I feel peace and comfort. I trust that I will see him again, be it in Heaven or in the form of other people I encounter and love. This is how he wanted to be remembered, and I know he is glad when I miss him this way.
Sometimes I think of my father and wonder what he would have thought of me. It makes me worry. He did not like liberals, and was my political opposite. He would not have been happy when I got my tattoos, or my piercings, or when I voted for a Democrat. Oh, he would have hated that. Would he have hated me?
Sometimes I think of my father and feel overwhelming anger. I need him! He was supposed to teach me how to grow up. He was supposed to comfort me when I was hurt. He was supposed to be there when I am afraid or struggling or need help. I still need him, and it isn't fair. I am still angry.
And sometimes, I think of my father and feel relieved. This has been the most troubling feeling to have, because it seems wrong. But in a way, I am thankful that my father died while he was still my hero. Every single person has flaws and I grew up feeling like my mother had them all, while my father was perfect. I continued to feel that way for a few years after he died. But as I have matured, and gotten to know my mother better, I understand that they both had flaws. I understand that there is more depth to them than I knew, and that my father did a lot of bad things. And in a way, I am glad that he passed away before I realized that.
Most of the time, though, I think about how much he loved me. I imagine he would be proud of me, that we would have playfully disagreed on things but mostly seen eye to eye, and that he would have loved the man I'm going to marry. I imagine him being the greatest grandfather of all time - he would have loved my sister's baby more than anything and been so proud. I am proud to be his daughter.
And all of the time, I know that he is still with me, one way or another.
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