It's been six years today since my Dad died. I’ve never written about his death here on the blog. I’ve never talked much about his death really and I’m not sure why that is. I’m sure there are a number of factors, not the least of which is how we as a society react to death. There seems to be an allotted grieving time immediately following the loss of a loved one and after that point it’s somehow indecent to still be in mourning or to continue talking about the loss. In the days immediately after he passed I kept busy as my brother and I cleaned my parents’ home in preparation of family visiting. The weeks after, I had my own little family to care for, a two year old to keep up with and a full time job that I could let distract me. I kept thinking I’d get to it, I kept expecting to take some Saturday and just let myself feel sad and let it all out. I never got to it.
It does seem acceptable to talk about the deceased lovingly after they are gone, to remember them fondly, to say, “Oh he would have loved this.” But to plainly sit and talk about his dying, about the months leading up to his death, my reaction to his passing, how it affected our family – in many ways I’ve felt like I couldn’t talk about it. To be quite honest, a big part of why I haven’t talked about it is because I feel relief that my Dad is not alive anymore. But that’s certainly not an acceptable statement. I’m not saying I’m glad he’s not here, but I did feel a sense of relief for him. I am glad that he’s not battling the same demons day in and day out. I am glad that he’s no longer in pain in any form.
The day my dad died, was almost exactly like today. Maybe that’s why I’ve felt it’s ok to begin talking about it. It was the Thursday before Memorial Day weekend, May 26th. It was warm and sunny, everything was green and lush. Quite the juxtaposition to the grimness of death and loss.
My dad had been diagnosed with Brain Cancer just before Christmas and we knew the prognosis was 6 months at most. The fact that he had been able to celebrate his birthday (along with mine and my brother’s) in April had been a small blessing. My mom and I had both felt lucky that he had stayed with us for that long. His actual passing was quiet, calm and really, kind of beautiful, as difficult as it was. My mom, brother and sister and I were able to be in the room with him. He was not in pain, he was sleeping and his breathing slowed and then stopped. He passed just before 6am, which still makes me smile now because he always woke up between 5:30 and 6 every morning. It was just such a “Dad” thing. The man had timing I guess.
We left the hospital after a bit and my brother & I started to clean my parents’ house, knowing that family would be coming on Sunday for a quiet memorial for my Dad. So, logically I went to the store to get supplies. As I drove I was stunned by how beautiful it was outside. It was warm, sunny, a perfect start to a long weekend and the unofficial start of summer. It was horrid. It was the complete contrast to how I was feeling inside and I couldn’t deal with it. I got the supplies I needed and went to check out. The cashier was super friendly (as they always are at this local shop) and greeted me with the common, “How are you?” and for the first time since I was a kid, I actually thought about my response before it came out of my mouth. How was I? Oh, you complete stranger, you really do not want the honest answer to that question. I managed a pleasant enough, “Fine,” and waited as he rang up my items. I knew I could make it through check out and back to the car. I started making lists in my head, where to start cleaning, which pictures mom would like out, what to do for dinner tonight. I was doing fine – until the cashier attempted a conversation.
“Getting some cleaning done before the party this weekend?”
Sir, I’m begging you to stop asking questions.
“Just doing some cleaning.” I had to force each syllable out of my mouth.
“It’s a beautiful day out there, going to be a great weekend!” He handed me my receipt
Finally I could leave. I don’t think I even said “thank you” but just got out of there as fast as I could. How could that man ask me such questions? How could he say it was going to be a great weekend? How could he be in such a good mood? By the time I sat in the car my brain caught up with the rest of me. I looked around and saw happy people, saw unhappy people, saw cars travelling, people buying groceries, pumping gas, going for a walk. I saw life moving along. Logically, I knew that life would continue after my Dad died, I knew I would feel sad, but I understood the nature of life. I wasn’t resentful of our mortality and in fact, I felt very grateful that we had warning about my Dad’s passing so I had time to spend with him before he died. But when it actually happened, it felt impossible to be sitting there watching the world continue on, when someone who had been such a big part of mine was gone.
That’s the beauty of life and death though. The grace in how life does continue, we do move forward. The trick is, to remember the good parts, to think fondly of those we’ve lost and to talk about them, to keep them with us in our way. That’s the great thing about love, it’s not strict about time. I haven’t been able to really process my Dad’s death fully, I’m not sure that I ever will, but I realize now that’s ok. I loved my dad, I can be sad I about his death, I can miss him whenever I want to and I can talk about that when it feels right to me. On the date of his passing, on our birthday, or on a random Tuesday.
Love makes no sense of space or time ~ U2
(Yeah, I quoted U2 in the post about my dead dad. He would have loved it!)
