My Dad, Pt. III

As before, I am going to share some personal things that involve death and concern a parent. So if that is a tough thing for you, this is a place to bail. My point in sharing this is because writing it helps me and it is my own process for what I am feeling, but also to normalize the feelings around something like this. There is grief involved, so proceed with care.

My dad died. Writing and saying those words has been the cause of many tears this week. I had anticipated having to say them and knew they would sting, but I did not know how quickly simply typing those three words would cause tears to well up and begin spilling out of me. I had been grieving him for more than a month already and had gotten a little more time than my original thought, but I ultimately was not really ready. I am stuck in this weird place between seeing that it happened very quickly, but also like it was slow enough I could make some amount of peace and say all the words I needed and wanted to say. I was on my way to say a few more words, whether or not he would hear them when my mom called and said he had passed. I was about 15 minutes away and just kept driving there anyway. Seeing him there, but also knowing he wasn’t, is still something that I haven’t quite reconciled. I think the thing that has been the heaviest grief was having a message from my daughter, who had not gotten to see him in the hospital, where she told him she loved him and wished she had said it more. We are a family who says it often, but she says it more sparingly than the rest of us. I don’t want her to have regrets, but I also know that none of us doubt how much she loves us, even if she doesn’t always say it.

After saying our last goodbyes to him at hospice, we went to put everything in motion for the funeral, and then I went to work. I know a lot of people would question this decision, but for me it felt right. I had shed tears, I had spent time with people I loved, but in reflecting since, I think I was honoring my dad by doing my work. I acknowledged in previous posts that he was excellent at sitting with people in their pain, and I felt like my work carried on that sort of tradition. For me, showing up and being present with clients was where I needed to be because it gave me some space from ruminating on my grief. I wasn’t running from it, nor was I avoiding it. Rather, I was being present in the moments with clients and appreciating my ability to do so, and my sadness and grief were there waiting for me when I had finished my day. Honestly, the only thing I did that day that felt “wrong” was cooking my dinner when I would have preferred comfort food instead of my very bro-coded meal of chicken, broccoli, and rice that I had.

I think for me, my relationship with death is also different than other people. I can’t say if that different relationship stems from the faith I had in my childhood or if it is something else. For some reason, I have known and accepted that death is part of the normal cycle of life since I was in elementary school, although other than a hamster and a couple of school carnival goldfish, I did not have much direct experience with death until a little later in my life. I remember writing a lyric for a band that never actually had instruments nor performed when I was around ten years old that said something to the effect of to live is to die, but that death is just the beginning, which concerned my mom at the time. I am not exactly comfortable with the idea of death, but I also accept that it is an inevitable and inescapable part of our existence. That also means that I am focused on the present more, because I don’t know how long I, nor the people I love, will be in the world. That means I want to spend time and be in the moment with people as much as possible. I try to minimize my distractions when I am with people because those moments and our lives, and time together all feel fleeting

As Kendrick Lamar says, “everybody grieves different”. Not everyone would go to work in this situation. Beyond that, not everyone would crack the dark jokes we were cracking as well. But that also means that I am thinking of the last moments I made my dad laugh, and how much I will miss that laugh, the joy I felt when he would get “really tickled,” as he would say. I think about the way that, oddly, so many of our last moments were connected to the Muppets. I brought him a Super Gonzo in the hospital and that got a big laugh from him, I was wearing my Muppets shirt when he and I spoke for the last time and he told me he thought it was time, and I told him it was okay, that we weren’t asking him to stay and none of us expected him to keep fighting. Hell, I was wearing my “Electric Mayhem” shirt when I was trying to say my last few words to him.

As I reflect more, maybe my biggest takeaway in my grief is how important moments are with the people we care about. I spent countless hours with my dad in the hospital, being present, knowing the time was dwindling even if I didn’t know how significantly, and I do not have regrets about that time. More than that, though, I have countless treasured moments and memories that I will endeavor to never lose sight of. My regrets are that I didn’t take more pictures with my dad over the years, although I didn’t take a lot of pictures until having kids. I was really lucky to be my dad’s kid, and I just hope I can honor that legacy in how I show up for people and how I am as a dad.