Why

The past three years since losing my father have been eventful to say the least.

I paused at the realization two nights ago that I hadn’t seen my dad in three years. Three whole years on November 19th. That’s 1,095 days. And as I grow older, that number will increase. If I live to 100, that’s more than 75% of my life I'd have spent without him. Percentages are dumb and I doubt I’ll be living to 100, but that percentage looms with a sharp bite. 

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Happy Fatherless Day

This will be my first Father’s Day without my father. A fatherless day, really. I got my first “it’s never too soon to shop for Dad!” email promptly following Mother’s Day, which I’d like to address– do you know how much I procrastinate? It’s May. I’ve been trying to prepare myself for the email invitations to Father’s Day brunches, and “get your Dad something nice for Father’s Day!” commercials, and I’ve never even taken my Dad out to a Father’s Day brunch. Suddenly, though, I wish I could. Or at least meander over the idea in the realm of possibility.

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I get it, I'm thinking of you.

When we grieve, we are no longer strangers. Suddenly, the world is painted in vibrant colors of anger or sadness. Maybe we sink into silence and shock, or maybe we throw our hands up in rage. Regardless of our response, we can now connect with those who know the stitches and roadmaps of grief. I’ve learned how beneficial it is to have someone concisely say, “I get it. I’m thinking of you.” So far, those have been the most accurate, comforting, and relatable words I’ve heard. 

When we try to grasp onto a new routine, grief visits quite often with reminders of who we’ve lost, bringing along a complicated crowd of feelings and accompanying loudness. These are the moments hardest to explain when all you can really do is mentally hug yourself and try to breathe in deeply and exhale it away. 

I’ve distanced myself from certain things while equally bringing myself closer to others in no particular order. The hardest part is not over because truthfully, every part comes with its own weight to process and bear. While trying to be gentle with myself, I’ve tried to learn I can’t cop out behaviorally and blame it on grieving. Those are two totally different entities. 

Since my father’s passing, I’ve learned how many people are living with loss. I’ve heard the stories of people who have felt similarly or experienced this before me. I’ve learned how we all very much feel it necessary to hear the words, “I get it. I’m thinking of you,” and know the significance of someone meaning it. 

The Fog Always Clears

Next Friday marks three months since my Dad died but it feels like it was both years ago and just yesterday. Time becomes an entirely new entity when you’re trying to occupy each minute that passes with the intent to make every second more valuable. I can’t imagine this will feel any better in months or years from now, or that it won’t ever stop feeling like it was yesterday. I had a dream last night that he was still alive. I’ve had many, many dreams like that since November 19th. I’ve been told it means that he’s visiting. I grasp onto believing that’s true. 

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Navigating a New Sea

Getting hold of myself the last few months has been difficult. Grieving has been projected to be this wild, emotional, tear-jerking experience but it is so much less hollywood than that. Grieving has been a slow, stagnant process. I honestly don’t even feel as though I’ve stuck my foot in the door to grief yet which is ironically the “first step” to bereavement. It’s been a flip-flop of denial, anger, and sadness but mostly silence.

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