The Little Things

My Dad liked accessories. Cufflinks, rings, watches, tie clips, etc. One of the things that happened when he died was that I was the one that took off his last remaining piece of jewelry. The rest had been removed over time due to medical procedures or just by virtue of things no longer fitting correctly. But after he died, he still had this one ring on. I took it off of him, and because he always wore it, there was no 'place' for it.

I have worn it ever since.

These trinkets, these little things, he had quite a few of them. Slowly some of them are finding new homes. Some people really want these mementos, some people know they are just things, and there's the in between, like me, where I know he's not in the ring, but it still means something. It triggers memories (good ones), and it does make me feel closer to him in a way.

All of these mementos do seem to matter in the end. Things that I didn't really think about while on his person, but they strike up vivid memories of him when I look down and see something so simple as a ring, a watch, in my possession. It's reminder that he is no longer here, and yet always here, all at once.

The little things become the big things, because they have become the only things. Except for the memories... and the little things that keep the memories alive, I want to keep those close to me.

The Wisdom of Elders

I delved a little bit into triggers, but there's one thing that I've been actively avoiding, and that is the memorial DVD of my Dad. It's not even the pictures so much as the music, because it reminds me so intensely of those last days, of watching both my parents say goodbye in their way.

My heart broke for my Mom as much as it broke for me, and that's something we don't really talk about in the world of adult child grief. There's the surviving parent that you want to protect and help and comfort, all while going through your own process of losing a parent. This is when being a plane ride away has been the absolute hardest.

We talk often, my Mom and I, and I am very grateful for the relationship that we have. If anything, this experience has brought us closer. But now I find myself missing her more than I ever did. Like she's so near and so far away. And in that, I feel very helpless. Helpless to help her, and helpless in letting her help me with her wisdom of how to deal with this. She has had the experience of losing a parent (parents), and I think her wisdom could be invaluable. But I am still protective of her, and as she has pointed out, maybe I do hold back in processing with her.

When we separate ourselves from our elders, family or otherwise, we separate ourselves from the wisdom that they have to offer. And when they are gone, the wisdom leaves with them, whatever has not been passed on already.

I am thankful that my Dad was full of wisdom and, because he chose his moments, when he did share wisdom we all listened intently. Now, with one parent remaining, I find myself wanting to be near here not only for the reason of being near her (because she's awesome), but to get that wisdom laid on me as well. I don't want to miss anything.

Please Talk About Him

There's this weird phenomena that keeps happening in my world and that is... People don't like to talk about my Dad with me. Or, when I bring up an anecdote about him, they get this sad look on their face.

I'm really hoping this goes away in time, but I fear it won't.

I had 40-plus years with him as a foundation of my life. Someone to talk to, lean on, laugh with, tease, make jokes with, share experiences with. Those 40 years did not disappear when he died. Actually, they've become even more important for me to share because it's my way of keeping his spirit alive. I fear things like forgetting his voice or his laugh, so I find myself actively bringing up memories or stories probably even more than I used to, for my own benefit. I need the people in my world to be a part of that, to let me share and to laugh or remember with me.

Gone most definitely does not mean forgotten.

Being one of the first of my friends to go through this experience, losing a parent at a reasonably 'expected' age, has been a bit of a challenge. The ones I do know that have lost a parent, it happened decades ago, and their grief is slightly different because they were younger when they experienced it. They have also very much gotten used to life without that parent as a presence. I am grateful that I have the support of my close friends, but acquaintances really have no idea what to say or do when he is mentioned, or they inadvertently mention their own father and then have the reminder that mine is no longer with me.

Part of my process has been to talk about him with whomever, whenever it's appropriate. I'm not randomly forcing him into conversation, but if it's relevant, I have no qualms about sharing him with others. And that look that crosses their faces, the obvious discomfort, it makes me think that I should stop sharing. But I can't, and I won't.

The experience of loss is something that every single one of us will feel at some point, and one of the ways that I have found to get through it for myself, to not feel it as this intense hole in my heart, is to still talk about him. I'm sure people fear saying 'the wrong thing', but that ends up in action being that they don't say anything at all, or they steer the conversation away from topics that might include mention of loss or death or fathers. I ask that if you have someone close to you experiencing loss, let them talk about their loved one. Let them share that person with you. It may very well be the way that they are keeping that person alive in their hearts. Ask questions about their life. Share your own anecdotes about your loved ones, alive or dead. Keep connecting in that way, because it helps me stay connected as well.

Triggers

I am ill-prepared for the things that will set me off mentally to thinking about my Dad no longer being with us. Initially I thought that the ring of his that I now wear would be a trigger, but it's become something that is a reminder of his life and who he was. It does not make me sad or drop me into that place of missing him so much. Pictures are the same. They are around the house, I say hello to him every morning and every night, but again, it's a reminder of his life. It makes me feel more like everything is 'normal', that before place. I don't dwell on missing him, or his absence.

But then some song will come on the radio that reminds me of him, or of his relationship with my Mom, or some random thing that has nothing really to do with him, and I'm thrown immediately into a funk, into that place of acute missing. I wish I could identify what those triggers are so I could either a) put myself into immersion therapy or b) avoid them all entirely.

As a surviving family member, we have to find ways to carry on with our lives, but those triggers act almost as hidden traps. It is so easy to get lost in them when one shows up, and to let ourselves live in the past when everything was as I thought it should be. I don't actually know that it's a bad thing to let myself feel the loss acutely, but I know that it still takes my breath away and stops me in my tracks. He is not a phone call or plane ride away anymore. This thought most recently triggered by my new-to-me car having the same fake leather kind of wheel as the car he taught me how to drive on did.

A steering wheel left me sitting in a parking lot for ten minutes before I felt I was actually in control of myself enough to drive again.

This is part of the process. When those items or songs or events cause me to take a breath and be hit over the head with the knowledge, yet again, that my Dad is no longer with us, I sit in it and give myself permission to grieve. I also give myself permission to take the space to think about that trigger and use it to bring forward a happy memory, the reason the trigger might have existed in the first place. I give myself permission to let a heart-wrenching moment turn into a fond and grateful reliving of experience and memory.

So I suppose neither immersion or avoidance is my plan of attack. I will accept these triggers as they come as reminders of how lucky I am to have had a father that was so loving and kind that his absence is palpable to me. I will use these triggers as a reason to be grateful in my sadness.

Expected But Never Desired

Truth be told, I am fortunate that I had nearly 41 years with my Dad in my life. I absolutely recognize that I am one of the lucky ones, that my Dad was there nearly every day for the first 17 years, and was only a phone call away the remainder of the time. There were trips and talks and memories, so many memories. And as a family we had end of life talks while people were of sound mind and body, because that is what responsible people do. Death has never been scary or not to be discussed, but even in that, it's still not something that anyone is actively rooting for.

As an adult of about 30-plus, you do start to come to grips with mortality, including that of your parents. And to be honest, if you hit 30, and your parents are around 60, you think 'hey, I can probably accept this... I'm a grown-up, they've done their job, I'm doing mine'. You do find ways to expect this particular outcome. At some point.

What I was ill-prepared for was the reality of it. The concerned phone calls from my family. The need to get on a plane as quickly as possible because there's something unknown but decidedly bad happening. More phone calls. The lack of pictures. The fast decline. The realization that the last time I heard my Dad's voice, I didn't know it was going to be the last time.

Expected. But never desired.

I wept multiple times when the reality of no cures, no surgeries, nothing short of miracles changing the outcome... when those hit me, that was the first series of waves. Wondering if I would be able to catch whatever the last flight out was, hoping that he would wait for me to see him. Hoping that he would recognize me in his way.

He did, even at 1am, both of us bleary-eyed him and him no longer speaking. There was recognition. I am so very grateful for that, for those last few days where I know he knew me, where there was no doubt that he knew my Mom. My Dad has always had the kindest eyes, and they spoke volumes when his voice no longer did.

I am one of the lucky ones. I had the ability to catch the flight, see him again, and even say 'see you later' (because goodbye never crossed my mind). I held his hand while he took his last breath, a last breath that we expected for nearly twelve hours. Expected, but never ever desired.

Nothing prepares you for that. Even when it is expected. But in my wildest moments, it was never ever ever desired.

The Five Stages

Yup, here we go. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross’s often cited 'five stages of grief' are as such: 
- Denial & Isolation
 - Anger
 - Bargaining
 - Depression
 - Acceptance

These various stages were first posited by her in the book On Death and Dying (1969). Nearly 50 years later and we have done very little new in the way of looking at the process of grief. The kicker for me, however, is that Kübler-Ross’s interviews that generated these five stages were done with terminally ill patients themselves.

What this means is that these steps of grief were specific to people who were literally losing themselves. This is not grief for a loved one, but grief of the knowledge that one would cease to be in this world. I have to imagine that the grieving process is somewhat different for those of us that have lost someone significant, because we are sitting with the memories of our loved one. We are the ones that have to face new experiences without them. We are the ones that can no longer pick up the phone or have a Skype session with our parent just to chat. We are the ones that live with the memory of the good moments, and the bad moments, and the should have been moments. 

Our grief is not about losing ourselves, but of losing a connection. That loss of connection does not go away or get filled by another so much as it becomes like sea-glass, beginning as jagged and rough, but over time it gets smoothed over. I anticipate that this hole I feel is something that will dull over time, but it will never be a thing that goes away entirely.

Acceptance. That's the only one of the stages that I feel the survivors really have to get through for emotional health. The rest is for those that are losing themselves. We are the ones that simply have to accept the outcome.

And we're supposed to act like nothing happened...

When my Dad passed away, I took one week off of work.

I remember thinking when I got back into the office, a scant seven days after saying a final "See you soon Daddy", that this was all kinds of wrong. How was I supposed to go back to life without him like nothing had happened? How could I not be given the same amount of time to grieve as I was given to welcome my child into the world, two events that are very much related in how they alter your reality?

Paid family leave, limited as it may be in the States, is an acknowledgement that when a life-changing event such as an addition to your family occurs, there is an adjustment period. A time to figure out the new normal. Space to freak out, cry, laugh uncontrollably, stay up weird hours, and share time with friends and family to welcome the new addition.

When I stepped back into my office, I wanted that same amount of time to do all of that in reverse. A week was not even remotely close enough to figuring out 'the new normal'. I didn't get the space or the privacy to truly grieve before needing to pretend like that loss never happened for 40+ hours a week.

Our lives don't stop, nor should they, when someone close to us dies. But I do believe that we need to acknowledge that a significant change has happened, and allow ourselves time to fully figure out how we are to proceed when we are travelling into the unknown that is a world without our loved one. The loss most definitely does not feel like 'nothing happened'.

The Waves

I came up with the title of this blog based on a post I had seen be an Internet stranger, someone that was addressing grief. Basically they talked about how at first, the waves of grief are overwhelming, like 100 foot waves that knock you down and turn you sideways, and how they keep coming over and over... And that over time, those waves maybe are only 80 feet tall... and then they stop coming quite so often. But occasionally a 100 foot wave will come out of nowhere, or we can see it coming with a trigger, and that we eventually learn to ride those waves...

Four months out and while the waves do not come as often, they are for sure of the 100 foot variety.

Separately, I feel that I have tried to keep my grief at something of a distance. I still have familial responsibilities. There are bills to pay, a kid to raise, friends to socialize with, life to live. And I highly doubt that anyone or anything I am grieving wants me to stop living my life. But there is a space where I keep my grief separate from the rest of my person, my psyche. And occasionally that personified bit of grief waves to me, reminds me that it is there, that it will wait for as long as it needs to but that it's not going away.

Yesterday was one of those days, and that is how this blog was born.

I do not need to shut my grief down so much as I need to honor and embrace it, so that I can let it go. This blog is my way of accepting my loss, and working through what it means not only for myself but my family as well. This blog is me waving back to my grief, acknowledging it's existence, so that I can get through it, and appreciate the journey all the more.

The End As Beginning

Grief.

What a fun and uplifting topic for a blog! Why would someone voluntarily write random things on the Internet about what amounts to one of the saddest topics on the planet?

Because I'm in the midst of it. And I couldn't find the kind of outlet or guidance I needed, which is to say, the journey of my own experience. The bizarre thing is that my experience is wholly non-unique. It actually fits within the realm of not only possible but probable. The death of an elder parent.

At some point I'll go through the whole story of how my Dad came to pass from this realm to the next, but I don't know that I'm ready to share that yet. What I am ready to share is this...

My life, everyone's lives most likely, are divided into segments. We look back at events and there is the time BEFORE and the time AFTER. Before high school graduation, and after. Before we met our spouse, and after. Before we had a child, or bought a house, or started that dream job, and after. And at this point, my life is very clearly divided into the time before my Dad passed away, and after.

So far, the after... sucks. I have no other word to describe what it feels like to have someone removed from your life after 41 years of them always being there. My anger is not directed at anything other than cancer, but this absence of someone I admired and respected and connected with for so long (and so well), that hole that I feel on the daily... yeah, it sucks.

This is a new beginning, even if it's one that I didn't want... even when I know that if all goes right in the world, this is actually the natural order of things. It's something I have to accept, and so I will. Perhaps there are others out there that can help me get through this journey, or perhaps I can help others as they go through it as well.

Welcome to the beginning of life after my Dad.