Today is roughly 6 months since my dad passed on.
I don’t like saying “died” or “passed away” because, to me, he still exists.
His voice is still in my head, I can still see his smiling face, I can still recall the way he drank his tea, how he signed his name, how he stood with his hands in his pockets, and how he fixed his flat cap. I can still hear the way he called my name, and the varied tones in his voice when he was talking to me.
He would always come out with a saying that was so fitting to any given situation, at 88 years of age, he had plenty of them! He was smiley, and wise, kind, and loving…and generous…he supported me so much throughout my life. He was my number one fan, my sponsor and my bestest friend.
These thoughts and memories of my lovely Dad, whirl around in my head, pop into my mind, at any given point during my day to day life - when I’m at work looking after a patient, or when I’m driving my car to the shops… it goes on.
Up until recently, I have been very matter of fact about his passing.
I’ve even made jokes, laughed it off, and tried to be strong … but this isn’t really Me, and it doesn’t really tell the whole story of the profound love and honour I have for my Dad, and the relationship and friendship we had as father and daughter.
Over the previous 6 months, I thought I was dealing with it, but there comes a point where I realised today - he will not come back, as he was, not here, not in this life, with Me. And that is sorrowful enough.
But today, we went to bury his ashes. Afterwards, I went to walk into his home where we spent so many lovely times, had great conversations where he told stories about his life, and his experiences, to see it empty, was a sobering and grief striking moment - a moment I didn’t think would come, but it did, and it needed to.
Everywhere held a memory, driving up to his house, I was still expecting him to stand at the window, to walk in to the house with a coffee waiting, to moan about my week, and tell him of my plans and doings at work, tales of escapades with friends, asking him what he wanted from Tesco’s, and brining my bags in to stay with him for a week…
The garden; where we spent so much time, was empty, his old sock on the outdoor tap (it leaked) was a reminder of how he could always fix anything (or try ) - the memories were so alive - and it felt like I was in the wrong place, the wrong Dad’s house.
It’s come to my mind, that I was in the wrong Dad’s house…as he’s moved on to a beautiful house, sitting in the middle of a field, surrounded by trees, to be in a place where there is utter peace, flowers always in bloom, and the sun always shining.
That’s what I dreamt anyway. And who says dreams don’t mean anything? They do to Me. My heart simply won’t ever believe he has “died” because I know he is still around, in my memories, in my heart, in another world…
If there is one thing I can do, it is to honour his love and his support, by feeling the feelings, and refusing to give up. Yes, sometimes I admit, I feel like the pain is too much, how could I end it? But that would be catastrophic, as Dad would be saying, this is life, it is natural - he was a big fan of nature, and had much respect for it.
It would break his heart if I did “something silly”.
He said when he was dying " the way I see it, it’s natures way love" … and he was so right. Now, you have a choice, to believe we are a body, and we are - but just a body and mind?
His essence and his spirt, is still very much with Me, and Im not sure if that brings me comfort on some days, because I don’t want him here in that way, I want him here in the physical world - here and now, flesh and blood. But, we can’t always get what we want.
He would tell Me, instead of crying and reminiscing, to get my head into something - to fight that feeling of despair and commit myself to getting stronger, however long it takes.
He also said “times a great healer”.
Seems to Me, that’s a cop out saying. Time is all we have, without him here, until I see him again, feels like there’s a big load of time, and healing can’t come fast enough.
Would I want to press a button, and suddenly get rid of the grief?
I feel that would dishonour my Dad, because he is somebody to miss in this world, he was a good example of a life well lived, and lessons well learned and most of all, my guardian angel - always “saving my bacon”.
So I must find a way, to turn my despair into strength, and keep hopeful.
Dad told me, before he died, “I’ll be with you every day”…and - how right he was.
I hope someone reading this can find something to relate to, and hang on to, because I think it’s quite possibly one of the hardest things to cope with. The tears have not stopped coming…doesn’t feel like they’ll stop anytime soon either.
Grief to Me, is the gap - the gap where we have so much space, seemingly empty with the loss of them - the “loss” of my Dad.
But what if it isn’t a loss? What if the gap, is just a change, and everything is alright - Dad’s alright, somewhere, He’s still around in his own way, a different way, that is wholly intangible right now.
So, I will continue to think of him, talk to him, and make him proud.
I will turn this utter sorrow into a strength, and I will help other people… I will keep going, because that’s what Dad did. He kept on encouraging Me, and backing me through every challenge…the least I can do, until we meet again, is encourage and back myself.
X L
