A Year Without You, Dad

Over the last year I have questioned everything. I have lost my desire to write. I have lost my clear belief in the goodness of the universe. I have asked myself over and over again, what is it all for? Does it matter? I have lost my patience for bullshit. I have lost a desire to uphold the nicety of everyday life.

Thinking about where I was a year ago today makes the heart palpitations begin all over again. Over the last week, all I can think about is how a year ago, I thought everything in the world was finally going right, but the truth is it was about to all start going wrong. I thought I was beginning a regular Tuesday, working from home. My baby cooking in my belly. But by lunchtime on that day I had received the most devastating and shocking news of my life. My world was turned upside down and it has not stopped reeling since.

I have replayed that day over and over in my mind countless times. And I’ve replayed the last time I saw you, the last time I hugged you, the last time I heard your voice. 

I’ve been left here to make sense of the senseless. I have felt jealous of other people who lose their parents but have the time to accept and understand that their death was coming. They have the luxury of taking more photos and videos. They have the luxury of holding their loved one’s hand, of telling them they loved them one more time, of knowing this tragic loss would occur. Not me. I was hit with shock, overwhelm, disbelief, and regret.

Had I known you were going, I would have taken more photos and videos. Had I known you were going I would have hugged you tighter one last time. Had I known you were going I would have asked you a few more questions about your life. Had I known you were going I would have told you how much I love you and how wonderful it has been getting to know you on a deeper level over the last few years. 

But I didn’t get any of that.

I feel like a foreigner who was dropped into another country where they don’t speak the language and don’t understand the culture or the customs.

I’m supposed to parent a baby? I’m supposed to move on? I’m supposed to feel gratitude? I’m supposed to be ok? I’m supposed to continue on with my life?

How?

And then all I can do to feel close to you is rely on things like your wearing your clothes, listening to your music, receiving visits from butterflies, visiting the beach, and these things don’t even come close to having you here in physical form. Sometimes they make me feel worse because they remind me just how far away you are and how you’re never coming back.

New motherhood has made me feel more isolated than ever, but grieving the unexpected loss of my father has made me feel completely alone.

It’s maddening that the world keeps spinning.

And yet here I am in so much emotional pain, some days I can’t stand it. The anger of the shock has subsided, but the ache of missing you continues. 

I don’t wish this pain on anyone.

Over this last year, I've barely survived. I have taken hit after hit after hit. All while grieving. All while feeling that at times the people around me could care less (even though I know some of them do, but they are unsure what to say and when). 

I have felt paralyzed by depression, indecision, and grief. I hate that all I have left are photos, songs, stories, and music.

My worst fear is I won’t remember all the stories, or your voice, or your advice. I’ve already struggled to manage our house damage without you. I also forgot to renew my car’s registration without you reminding me several times before the expiration was up.

If this last year has taught me anything it’s how quick and fleeting life can be. It can all be over in a second. 

My hope is that one day my motivation to make a difference with my life comes back. 

I’d love nothing more than to make you proud Dad. I can’t believe it’s been a year since I’ve seen you. A year since we hugged and a year since you power washed my driveway.

Some tragedies do not get explanations.

Love you always, to the moon and back.