My Dad, Part VII. Happy? New Year

Grief at this point is not tearful, nor is it constant in the sense of being at the forefront of my mind. There are certainly times when it does move to the front of my mind. Instead, it is more like a fog you are walking through. It is all around but not really impeding your day. It may make it harder to see more than a few steps ahead, but it does not feel dangerous or threatening in the morning light. You can still find your way, it just takes a little longer, but it becomes such a constant that you don’t truly notice it anymore, other than the moments you step out of it.

I knew Christmas was going to largely feel like just another day,, and it did. I was happy to see the joy my kids felt, but I was also happy it was over. I put away most of the decorations pretty quickly, erasing the attempt at feeling the normal Christmas joy. Hell, most years I take it down fairly soon, but I also feel a sense of loss doing so. Saying goodbye to my favorite season/time of year and knowing it will be months before it returns is never easy. At night, I always look out the window from my room to see the lights outside, and the first week or so after taking down the decor, look out with a sense of longing. This year, I looked outside once after taking it down and saw the inky darkness, only slightly penetrated by the streetlamp down at the end of my driveway, and I found it welcoming. The pretense of joy was gone, put away, and I didn’t feel like I needed to fake it anymore.

My daughter saw the video I made talking about my grief, and I don’t know if it was that, or her having to deal with the death of essentially three grandparents (one of her mom’s parents and one of her stepmom’s parents, in addition to my dad) that caused her to also be ready for all of Christmas to come down. We went to look at lights with my mom, sister, brother-in-law, and nephew, and my daughter and I were both pretty over it. Most houses had already turned off their lights at that point (the day after Christmas), and I was ready to move on. But, unlike how I move on from the holiday, I don’t get to just move on from grief. Sure, I could try to cram it in a box and pull it out later, but I try to make the habit of not running away from my feelings, no matter how much of a pain they may be. I think this allows me to get through them, and truly be through the moment rather than it haunting me later.

There is a sense of numbness around all the things that should bring joy, and I recognize that a lot of that is the grief. I still have fun and can be present, but there is also a sense of something being amiss. I don’t have any answer, and I don’t believe that there is a “how-to” when it comes to grief, other than allowing yourself to feel it. Over time, the constant companion is just another part of me, the way any heartbreak or disappointment I have ever felt is. I don’t ruminate about the people who have broken my heart, but on occasion, there may be something that reminds me of them. More often than not, though, they are not anywhere on my radar. I can already feel this loss trending in that direction, although I also don’t think this one will ever go so far away that I don’t think about my dad on a daily basis.

It starts to wear on me that I now look at all these things as “firsts” without my dad. First birthdays, holidays, life events, and so on. By this time next year, I will have pretty well exhausted all of the firsts because this will be the first calendar year without him. I plan to keep him present in the things I do, from including him as part of Christmas on the scavenger hunt the kids had for their big gift, to in the near future finalizing an idea for a tattoo that will be with me every moment of the day, to just realizing that a part of who I am comes from who he was, who he wanted to be, and likely who he hoped I might be, and how he played his role in raising me.

There will be heavy moments to come, I am sure. While we are not a patriarchal family, recently one of my friends said they could imagine how hard it is to suddenly be the patriarch of the family. I think, honestly, more of the weight of being the eldest. Feeling like you have to have your shit together and then realizing just how little you have your shit together. It is sort of the same as being a parent or even being a therapist. I just want to live in a transparent way where I make it clear I do not, in fact, always have my shit together. But I do try to model a healthy way of responding to that, and try to have the answers for my kids, or at least help them find their own answers. I suppose in some ways, that is also what I am doing with these posts, specifically about my grief. I don’t know what tomorrow holds. I don’t know the right path forward, but my hope is to help people see a path forward and one that is authentic, so they are less afraid to follow it.

In the meantime, I will endeavor to continue on my path. No matter how dense the fog is, the only way I know is forward. I may stop and rest or feel what I need to here and there. But the journey compels me forward, because forward is the only way I get to find out where I have succeeded or failed as a parent. Forward is the only way I’ll get to see if I live out my dreams, or if I wind up feeling trapped or stuck. Forward is the only thing I can offer when I am uncertain, other than a rest. I am sure I will make mistakes and will have to double back at points in the journey, but for now, every step forward takes me further from the shire of my grief, and the quest is one that must be undertaken if I want to finish the story.