When you lose a parent it is a life-changing and soul-crushing experience. It’s also one of those things that there is absolutely no way to understand or empathize with unless it has happened to you. Sadly I know that now. Having had many friends lose a Mom or Dad I always felt so bad for them and thought I was able to be truly sympathetic. I was not.
My sweet Daddy has been gone for 2 months, 15 days, and 4 hours. I miss him so much. And in so many ways I still can’t believe he’s gone. I knew this day would come. I have been dreading it for more than a decade. I used to try and imagine my life with him no longer here and it seemed impossible that would ever be the case. And then, he’s just not here.
The first few months there was so much going on that I found myself able to stay busy and not focus too much on his passing. Since we have a strong faith and firmly believe we will be reunited once again in Heaven it’s been easier to think of him there, healthy and happy. But the last few weeks have been something new. I of course have been told that the grieving process is ever changing and one can’t predict how they may feel from week to week. I’m sure everyone has different stages and ways they move through it. I have started doing something that seems almost uncontrollable.
Places, people, things all now occur to me as “The last time I did this Daddy was alive.”“The last time I ate this Daddy was still here.” It can be the smallest or most mundane of things and I can’t stop myself from the association. I went to see a Broadway show a few weeks ago with some friends who were visiting us in NYC. It was the 6th time I had been to this particular show. Some of the songs took on new meaning for me and I found myself silently crying as it occurred to me that the last time I had seen “Wicked” Daddy wasn’t gone.
The strong girl in me who doesn’t like to wallow tried to ignore that feeling and move past it as fast as possible. But it has been persistent.
Last week, Ryan, Rilyn and I left New York City with our dog Daisy to drive to our cabin in North Carolina. We bought the cabin a few years ago from my Mom and Dad. They owned it since 1987. My childhood and adolescence are as connected to this place as they are anywhere else. Having anyone else own it felt wrong and I wanted our daughter to grow up coming to these beautiful mountains.
As we were in our last hour of driving I found myself dreading the arrival instead of my usual feelings of excitement. I knew that Dad’s blue chair that he loved to sit in would be on the porch. I knew the couch downstairs where we watched a movie last summer together would be there empty. I knew I would never sit at the picnic table and eat dinner with him again. That same picnic table that I took one of my favorite pictures with my Dad 20 years ago. I suddenly didn’t want to come.
The last time I was here...Daddy was alive.
The memories here with my Dad are thick and heavy. Even the times we have come without him, he seemed everywhere. Calling him to let him know we made it in okay was the first thing I ever did. He would worry about his kids when they were on the road. And once here, he wanted to hear from us the whole trip. He was always curious where we had gone or what we had done. And every action I have completed since we arrived are now actions that the last time I did them, Daddy was still here.
Eating my first bowl of boiled peanuts was almost painful. I couldn’t stop thinking about the ones in my parents’ freezer that Daddy made last year. Should we ever eat them or just keep them forever? Daddy was known for his peanuts. He loved making them and eating them more than anyone I have ever known. Those peanuts in the freezer are the last he’ll ever make. They almost seem sacred. The sad reality is that a boiled peanut for the rest of my life will always make me miss my Dad. I will never be able to enjoy them the way I did before.
Throughout this last week, all the places we’ve gone and people we have seen, the same drives through the mountains that Daddy always took us on, the waterfalls we’ve stopped at, it’s become jarringly clear that the reasons I love this place so much are all wrapped up in the memories of my life here with my Dad. Decades of memories. There will never be new ones with him.
Right now, honestly, it’s more painful to relish them than to try and push them away. I know it won’t always be like this. And I looked forward to the day when I can marinate in all the amazing and fulfilling times I spent with my Dad. But it’s going to be a minute. My world just feels off with him gone. And the reality I must accept is that life from here on out will be seen as before and after Daddy. That’s just the way it is. There is no way to avoid this kind of loss if you live long enough. There is also no way to prepare yourself for the process.
My heart now understands what so many have experienced before me. But because of that I also have hope that one day it will be better. That I will evolve to a new place of understanding and acceptance that I am unable to see right now.
Until then, I’m going to take the deep breaths that push the lump out of my throat and silently thank Daddy for the reason we are here, at our cozy cabin, making new memories with so many of our beloved family and friends. This is exactly what Daddy would want!
As always, Thank you for reading!