It’s strange but this blah feeling came over me a couple of weeks ago and I can’t tell you what it’s about. I don’t feel depressed. I really don’t feel anything at the moment. Just vacant. And I find that an odd way to feel at any time.
It is coming around to the twentieth anniversary of my father’s death – November 8th at 2:00 PM. And my mind is replaying every single moment of that time that’s etched permanently in my heart. I think this is where my mood lies. I went to have my own private remembrance day with my father on the weekend, sat in the cool grass, tossed the long since dead leaves about and watched my breath go in an out, as I sat remembering that time so vividly. On went my headphones as I listened to David Foster play the songs that felt heavenly to me then. Something to help carry my father’s mind to the place I believed he was venturing towards. And then the heaving of my chest as the tears came and I sobbed.
When he died, I was almost euphoric with the joy you’d expect, to know someone you love is no longer suffering. I realized it meant a huge ending in my life. But for whatever reason, none of that mattered because watching him unable to eat, move or be mobile was painful for me. He had shriveled into a small little man but my vision of his strength – his muscular body and washboard abs – stayed a clear picture in my mind. He was seeing people who had died (who I believed had come to him for comfort) and he was making bargains with me. Hopeful God would hear him. But that was not what the universe had planned for him. He was remorseful and afraid. And I sat and waited, speaking softly and clearly. Sharing stories of my memories. Being honest about my feelings. Telling him I would hold him for always in my heart and that his father was waiting for him.
It was the hardest, yet most amazing two weeks of my life. A gift really. But now, twenty years later, I hurt. Because I did need more. I wanted more time. Where it was just him and I. In a place where he was vulnerable and able to be honest and clear with me as a peer, rather than his daughter or child.
There is no celebration in loss. There is nothing that makes you feel better really. It is a dull ache that never leaves you. It wraps itself around who you think you are and alters it forever. The one man I knew I could always count on was gone. And now there would never be another. And I believed that. Because I had lived it.
So – Dad – I wish I could wish you back for a day. The grief club is a big one. But I will have to wait. I will have to believe you are out there somewhere. Waiting in a place where time no longer exists. And the comfort I take in that is knowing and hoping we will be able to embrace on a level that is equal in compassion, love and understanding. It was wrong of me to judge you; more that I should be judging myself. I have made my own series of mistakes that in many ways have hurt those I love dearly. So no one is perfect. But I know you see that. And as I have forgiven and moved on, so have you.
I miss you daddy.