Father’s Day will be June 20th this year. Traditionally on these days children celebrate and thank their mothers and fathers for all that they have done for them. Sometimes surprising the revered parent with breakfast in bed or a family dinner out at a nice restaurant. The day is complete with gifts, a nice handmade card or perhaps a bouquet of flowers and a box of their favourite chocolates. For me; these days are bittersweet. These days, in addition to my father’s birthdays, death day and really every special occasion in my life. Instead of thanking him, I am remembering him, and wishing he was still here. I know I am not alone in feeling so. Feeling nostalgic, I wanted to share my experience of parental loss with you.
My dad and I shared a very close bond; the memories I have of him are too numerous to even begin to start sharing. I was the typical ‘Daddy’s Girl.’ His death on June 13 2002 hit me HARD. He had been diagnosed with Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia, three years earlier when I was in seventh grade. Like many children, I figured he would simply live forever. I didn’t really understand how this illness could take him from me; he had survived so much already in his short 48 years on this Earth. From a horrible industrial accident that required over 15 surgeries, then of course complications from those surgeries, thyroid issues and in general immense pain on a daily basis. He endured all that while running his own business and looking after my mother, myself and his own mother who suffered a massive stroke and was paralyzed on the left side. He endured without complaint.
I spent a lot of time with him at the Cancer Clinic; sitting with him while he had chemotherapy. Again my junior high self didn’t really understand; we had spent lots of time at the hospital over the years even prior to ‘The Big C’ and he always came home… I will never forget the night he died; the phone rang… CODE BLUE, the nurse told my mother. She came into my room and suggested I get dressed because there was a chance that “Dad may pass away.” By the time we arrive at the hospital he was gone. I was sick to my stomach.
As a teenager, just freshly 16 years of age I felt isolated in my grief. I didn’t feel comfortable asking for help or talking to anyone; even my own grieving family. It is safe to say that I wanted to suffer in silence; swallow my grief. It wasn’t healthy and that’s definitely why I became angry. I slammed a few doors, became self-destructive and lashed out at people who were simply trying to help. Basically I spiralled. This huge traumatic event in my life brought a lot of unwanted attention to me and my family. Don’t get me wrong; I can’t even begin to thank those who stepped up to show us kindness and compassion at that difficult time, but as a typical teenager it was overwhelming. I just wanted to be normal, I wanted everyone to think that I was okay, that I was a strong mother-fucker (excuse the language) because I was 16 and all 16 year old think they are invincible (and that we know better, when clearly we don’t). It irked me incredibly to be known as the “girl whose dad just died,” that label made me burn with embarrassment. My dad died around the time that MSN Messenger was super popular; so I spent hours locked away downstairs in the office ‘talking’ to my friends completing ignoring my own suffering family.
As I was reading up about grief during adolescence, recently, I found my aforementioned behaviour was extremely common. While I clacked away on the keyboard; chatting, I thought about my life. I thought a lot; I thought a lot about a lot of things. I thought about all the activities I used to do with my dad and that I would NEVER be able to do them with him again. I thought about all the things in my life that he would never be apart of. I had never been a religious person, but this grievous, life shattering event even made me think that there couldn’t possibly be a God –since he had let this happen to me and my family. And of course I thought: “What the fuck am I going to do now?” But, the memorial service happened, the ashes were scattered, life went on: high school graduation, university, teaching, marriage…
We all survived the grief. It did get easier as the years went on, however I have shed quite a few tears composing this post but I didn’t fall to pieces like I did back then. I am thankful that I had a dad like him and that I was able to cultivate 16 years of awesome memories with him. I miss my dad and I wish he was still here. But I think the life I have led up to this point would have made him proud and that makes my heart happy.
