At dinner yesterday, my 8 year old asked how my dad died. I was silent for awhile. Debating on if I should tell her or not. Is she old enough to know? How would her heart take it? I decided not to tell her the truth. I told her part of the truth. “He had cancer.” And she left it at that. She is a sweet soul and I didn’t feel she was ready to hear the whole truth. Yes, my dad had cancer. Yes, the treatments contributed to his ailing body and mind.
I love family history. There’s many holes in my own family so I have researched many documents including death certificates. They all helped me find clues to missing pieces of my family’s history. What if future generations do the same? What will they think when they stumble upon my dad’s death certificate? Where they will find ‘gunshot wound to the head’. ‘Suicide’. Those words that seem like they are written in bold, large words on the page.
What will they think? Will it still be taboo years, decades from now? I wish there could be a comment section in the death certificate where I would write this: “He tried everything he could to get better. Side effects from treatments were unbearable. He couldn’t sleep, eat, or rest. He was done, mentally, physically, and spiritually.”
My dad had a tender soul. Outwardly, he seemed gruff, quiet, awkward at times. But gosh, if you really knew him, he had a very kind heart. He trusted easily. Too easily and got taken advantage of many times, even from his own family at times. As I reflect on him, and me as a person, we are very alike. I trust easily. I believe everyone’s intentions are pure. But they aren’t always like that. I now have a very, very small circle of who I completely trust and can depend on for anything. I can count on one hand. Despite trials and heartache, I still see the good in people. That’s just who I am. I can’t change that. So I still see the good in those that have hurt me. I feel for those that are going through trials, even if they created it themselves. Is that forgiveness? Is that what Jesus feels when looking after His children? He still sees the good. He knows their heart. But He set boundaries too. And so do I.
I had a dream of my dad last night. It was so vivid and the emotions I felt were so strong. I was at a museum and it was like I zoned out and then saw a vision of him and my mom. They were on a date for their anniversary. My sister was at the museum too and I instantly went to find her. I was overcome with emotions, crying hard. I was so excited to tell her that I saw dad! I probably cried in my sleep, since I woke up with puffy eyes.
I am grateful for all the little signs I see and feel of him. Dragonflies fly by me randomly at work, bright orange and red birds appear in our backyard. Songs will come on that remind me of him.
I sure wish he was still here. I miss him and wish I could call him and talk like we used to. I know he’s looking over us though.
I wish you and mom didn’t wait so long to have me. Sissy and I would have been closer in age and built in besties (we are now though❤️). I would have had more time with you. You could have seen your grandkids grow! They would have had more time with you.
Sydnee is doing track and loves it! Just like you did in high school!
Zoe’s got an independent spirit and teen stubbornness like I had when I was that age. she’s fierce and knows what she wants. All good qualities to stick up for herself. You can see myself in her when I was that age.
Deacon is funny and such a hard worker. He would help with whatever you needed! And he loves hiking and practicing shooting, just like you.
Daxon is always wanting to help and be involved. He would help you when you are working on cars and would have absolutely loved reloading bullets with you.
Emmy is our fierce Tom girl, excelling in all sports with a fierce attitude to go with it! She would have loved going places with you, going shooting, working on cars, all the things you did with me when I was that age.
Junie would give you hugs. She has a sixth sense, knowing when someone is sad. She would constantly tell you she loves you.
Odin loves to tell mom he loves her anytime she comes over and sit on her lap and talk with her. He would have loved you just as much!
You taught me to take no crap from anyone. Kick them if I had to. Which I did in elementary school, and you were so proud of me for kicking a boy who was trying to grab me at recess. You taught me to be independent and strong. You taught me that I could do whatever I wanted to, even in a male dominated career. Remember when we worked together for a short time? You worked in the field and I worked in the engineering room. It was my favorite when you would stop in and visit. You were meant to be a girl dad but you would have really cherished your grandsons.
But we can’t change our lives or the paths we were given. They say siblings are parented differently, even with the same parents. You were older when I was born. You did things with me you wished you would have done with Sissy. You didn’t have to work nights or lots of overtime when I was around, like you did when Sissy was growing up. you had more time with me.
What hurts me so much is that you and sissy didn’t have the same relationship as you and I did. We all love in our own ways. And I know it was so very hard for you to show your love. Your dad was an alcoholic and abuser who made no time for you and eventually left you, your sister, and your mom. You didn’t see him much. Your sister died tragically, and no one was the same after that. So much sadness and grief. You tried to help yourself. You read self help books, you had your own bible study. But earthly vices sometimes overpowered the good at times. You had lots of anger that you never worked out. You served in Vietnam. I know you saw things, hard things.
I wish you knew that you were good enough. That we were all there for you no matter what. You could have confided in me with what you were going through. I would have done anything within my power to help you. Though I could see it. I could hear it in your voice. The struggles you were having and the depression you were feeling. My regret is that I could have done more. And I would have done more if I knew what was going to happen. Anyone would have done more. But we all have our choices. I did the best I could, talking with you, sending you care packages, offering a listening ear. And that was enough. And I think you appreciated it. But the decision was yours that fateful night. I know how much pain you were in and the suffering you were going through.
I know you instantly regretted that decision you made, to leave this life and escape the pain, mentally and physically. Remember when you came to me in a dream about a month after? I was sitting in the pews in the back of a church and you came in the back, frantically trying to find me. Only I could see you. I was screaming for you, “Dad, Dad! I am right here!” You looked so scared and afraid. You couldn’t see me or find me. Your eyes were frantic, almost like you couldn’t hear me yelling for you but couldn’t come to me even though you wanted to so badly. Then I witnessed a sort of portal open up above us. Your mom peaked out, extending her arm down to you. You reached for her and she pulled you up through the portal, bringing you with her. She had this sort of peace and love surrounding her. I think you were lost and scared after you died. Your soul was in turmoil. Not realizing what you actually did. Grandma was there to guide you to Heaven. And I can only imagine that great reunion you had with her.
This picture was the day before my life changed forever. I expected to keep painting the next day but that never happened. Instead, I was awoken in the early morning of December 27th hearing that my dad passed away. I already knew how it happened. I knew in my heart. But these trivial stripes that I painted that day, will always remind me of my old self, my old life, before grief hit. For months after, those stripes reminded me of losing my dad. Those stripes reminded me of a happier time. I was in a good place mentally and physically. I would always remember them as the day before the worst day of my life. I never did finish painting stripes on the rest of the hallways, even 7 years later.
I think it’s time to start afresh and paint something completely different. Start anew. The stripes will be covered with different paint. The stripes will still be there, just like my grief, but my hope is that with new paint, the focus changes.
Underneath my tough exterior, the stripes of grief will always be there. Layers will crumble and those grief stripes may show. But I am learning to add new ‘paint’ every now and then. I am adding boundaries, finding little things that make me happy, and spending more time with family.
I never ever thought my dad could do this. Was he crying? What were his last thoughts? He was so alone in those last moments, and that breaks my heart.
Christmas season is never the easiest for me, but I try my best to enjoy the holidays through my kids eyes. That’s where the magic is.
Please tell your kids how proud you are of them. Even if your kids are older and have kids of their own. We are a product of a mother and father. Children are engrained to seek acceptance from their parents. We want them to be proud of us, and that feeling never goes away no matter how old we are.
I was 34 when my dad died. Was he proud of me? I was in the thick of raising young kids. I wasn’t thinking about me or what I was doing in life. A shift began to happen after my dad died. I started focusing on ME. A few months after my dad passed away, I went back to school to get my teaching degree. Within the last couple of years, my husband and I started our own pizza trailer business. I started focusing on myself more. Still having the focus of my family in the forefront, I did those things to better ME because of THEM. Do I make my kids proud? Did I tell my dad how proud I was of him?
I used to work at the same company as my dad. I worked in the office as a contractor employee, working in the engineering department. My dad worked in the field. He would come and see me anytime he could. He dropped my name to anyone in the company who was listening. He was so proud. And I was so proud of him. I loved seeing him when he’d stop by my cubicle and chat for a few minutes. I applied for a permanent position in the department. I didn’t get the job. My dad was so mad. He knew I should have gotten the job! However, I knew I wouldn’t get it and that was ok. There was another contracted worker who had been there way longer than me. He deserved the job. My dad had so much faith in me. He was a ‘man’s man’ but he knew that I was just as worthy (if not more) to hold a position in engineering/construction that is mostly male dominated. He rooted for me. He was so upset when I had coworkers telling me ( at one of my engineering jobs) that I shouldn’t be working there because it’s no place for a woman. He was upset when I got demoted, not for my work performance, but because ‘in my condition’ of being pregnant, and a woman no less, I was better suited to do paperwork. He couldn’t believe these so called men would treat me like this. (Yes I got a lawyer and yes these men were reported).
That was over 15 years ago. But why is this still happening?
I’ve lost respect for many people as I’ve gotten older. I feel like an idiot though. I naively believe people are inherently good. I think they really care for what I have to say. I think that they truly care for all people. Then I find out how wrong that really is and I feel dumb for believing them. It’s like I realize the scam they are creating.
I know my dad dealt with these same problems. He really did love everyone no matter where they fell on the social and work ladder. He had a coworker that he was good friends with who got a promotion into management. He stopped talking to my dad because being in management, he supposedly couldn’t have friendships outside of work with anyone lower than him. That hurt my dad, even if he didn’t show it. His feelings came out in anger and impatience, but I know he was deeply hurt. He didn’t want others to feel they are less than or aren’t worthy enough. I guess he’s passed that torch to me, I have the same outlook in life. It sure is hard though! Wanting to stop caring because that means getting hurt but can’t because that’s who I am! I wish I could talk to my dad and ask him how he dealt with these issues. I feel like I had a way with him to open up and talk about things.
I just wish more than anything, that if I could go back in time, I would have told him how important he is to me in my life.
My dad’s father walked out of his life when he was young. His dad later disowned him when he didn’t make a career in the Navy. He lived in the same state where I was born and never came to visit me, let alone see his other grandchild, my sister. His other son, my dad’s half brother, never saw him either. All of my grandfather’s children were left with a father wound that they all tried to manage throughout their life.
Now I am left with a father wound. My dad left me too, just like his dad left him. I pause to let that sink in.
The difference is, my dad loved me and I knew it and felt it. I know he loved his family so much and he had so many struggles at the end. Yes he left us, but he didn’t abandon us like his father did to him.
I am not mad at him. I understand his pain and struggles. I just he was still here.
Thanksgiving has been really hard for our family. That was the one holiday that we all got together and it was my sister’s favorite holiday. After my dad passed away, Thanksgiving was more depressing than anything. We had to change it up over the years. We spent a lot of years apart on that holiday, and some years together but did things differently. One year we had spaghetti. Doing something different was a way of taking our minds off of missing our dad.
But this year our family finally all met together for thanksgiving and had our traditional turkey dinner. It was so nice to all be together. It was like my dad was still there with us. We went to the zoo, like we always did together, this time with my mom joining us. My dad always went with us, while my mom stayed at home and helped cook dinner. This time she was there and it was like my dad was there too.
Life is hard without my dad, but there’s also a sense of peace too. Maybe acceptance. It’s a hard feeling to describe. I know my dad is watching over us and I know he is happy and free of pain. Knowing that helps me to let some of this grief go. I hope I am able to hold on to that peace so that I can keep the ugly side of grief away.
I miss you loudly. No one can see it. Or maybe they do. My brain brings memories of us to the surface showing me how much you cared, in your own way.
You were my biggest supporter. You were the one I called first when I had exciting news or announced (yet another) pregnancy. You mourned when I miscarried.
Our souls are connected. I got your compassion for others from you. You saw the best in people and so do I. We both learned some hard lessons trusting people, but we still wore our heart on our sleeves.
You supported me in my dreams of being in engineering when it was still taboo for women. You never steered me away. You supported my decision to move away to go to college where I would be only one of a few girls in the engineering program.
I miss talking with you about our family history. No one seems quite as interested in it than we were. You kept in touch with family and wrote letters checking in on your cousins, sisters, and brother. I know you were hurt when your brother stopped sending letters. I wish your dad could have seen all the compassion and love you had that I saw. Or maybe he did and was too jealous, because he could never have that for himself. I miss our weekly talks. I saved your voicemails and I still listen to them.
Our relationship could have been complicated, and it was at times, but I saw past that gruff angry exterior. I saw who you were and what type of person you were trying to be. I saw your compassionate heart. You were the gentle giant.
Should I have told you that you could call me when you were feeling low anytime of the day or night?
I used to say time heals. It lessens the severity of grief. But does it really? I am not the same person as I was before my dad died. Bouts of depression are longer and harder to crawl out of. The grief hits harder and longer these days. I may have a good few months and then grief takes over with no warning and it takes hold. Yes time can heal the grief, for a little while, but it’s only a bandaid. It’s like a patch on a pool. Water keeps filling up and the patch gives out. Then the flood gates of grief hit. And a new cycle begins.
It’s maddening and frustrating. Why can’t I just get over it? Why can’t I just enjoy the moments in life now? I know I will see him again, so why can’t I just accept that and live my life to the fullest ?
What if I told you my dad might have known he was going to end his life? What if I told you he was planning it? He sold their 4 runner, his favorite truck that he’s had for decades. I learned to drive on that thing. We went off roading in it where I would panic thinking we’d fall off a side of the mountain. So many memories. And he took such good care of it. So when it had needed something replaced, he instead sold it to his mechanic shop. He loved that thing. And he just gave it away. This was a month before he died. The plan was for him to buy a truck. My mom found one and told my dad that they should buy it. They had the money for it, that wasn’t an issue. My dad just said not right now, maybe after the new year. That was not in my dad’s character to say the least. He was an impatient man and impulsive. The dad I know would have gone straight to the dealership to buy himself a brand new truck. The day my dad died, he put his hand on my mom’s lap and said, ‘don’t worry about me and what happened the other day (he cried over the last conversation with his dr, saying there’s nothing that can help his side effects. My mom had never seen him get emotional like that before). He continued to say, ‘I am happy.’ First, my parents have never showed their love for each other. I’ve never seen them hug in my life and I’ve never seen them hold hands or even kiss! There was no physical touch in any of our family relationships. No hugs, nothing emotional. So for my dad to be emotional and talk to my mom, calming her fears, was strange.
So if he had been planning this, why didn’t he go to the desert, away from the house and away from my mom who was sleeping in the next room? Why would he let her find him like that? My mom describes how she found him and it’s the most heartbreaking moment I have ever had. If he knew he was leaving us, why didn’t he write goodbye letters? That’s one thing that we all have a really hard time with. So many unanswered questions. We keep saying, if only he wrote a letter to us. Since he didn’t, and left no notes, I feel like he didn’t care about us. It makes me feel like I didn’t do enough. And that is the absolutely worst feeling for me. One thing that I hate is that I never feel like I am good enough. I’ve struggled with this my whole life. My mind tells me I was not good enough to be an engineer. I am not a good enough mom, wife, sister, aunt, or friend. I am not a good daughter. The list can go on. Bosses have said I can’t do construction/engineering because I am a woman and I should do paperwork and that’s what we are good at. A family member once told me that I couldn’t afford college in another state so why should I go there (after opening the admittance letter). I never did sports in high school because I thought I wasn’t good enough. The one person who ALWAYS believed in me was my dad. I wanted to go away to school across the country at one point and become a mechanic. His friend said I am a woman and that’s not my job. My dad knew I could do anything I wanted! So here’s my biggest supporter, who doesn’t leave a goodbye note for me, and all I can think of is that I wasn’t a good enough daughter for him.
I am not saying these things out of pity. This is something very private that I don’t talk about. But what I am trying to convey is that this is such a complicated grief. There’s so many roots of this grief that grow in all different directions. I get stuck on one root and then trip over another root of grief that I have to untangle myself out of. My views change with every grief cycle and I might have a different opinion on if he really planned it or not. My husband said if he was planning it, he would have absolutely let us all a note. He thinks my dad was just so miserable. And he being impulsive and impatient, he made a snap decision that altered everyone’s lives.
So please. If you ever think about ending your life. Please think about who you leave behind and the aftermath that they will always have to live with. They are NOT better off without you. We know how hard it is. We truly do. I’ve been analyzing every detail of my dad’s health and awful side effects he went through. It’s been almost 7 years and I still wish I could have taken the pain away.
Please. Just. Stay. Tell someone exactly what you need. Have honest conversations with someone you trust about your situation. Pray! Sincerely pray for help and guidance.
I did see a glimmer of hope last week that I so desperately needed. I was eating lunch with a good friend and we were talking about our lives and catching up. I was in the middle of talking about how we don’t have family close and then I heard My Girl play on the restaurants radio. I stopped in my tracks. I looked up and had tears in my eyes. That’s my dad and I’d wedding song. My friend had tears in her eyes as well as I. She said, ‘he’s telling you that he is still here for you and will always be family.’ We may not have family close or have close connections with family but my dad will always be here with me. In that moment it felt like he was standing behind my chair, with his hands on my shoulders standing proud.
My dad wrote this prayer and it could be found all over. In his Bible, on his dresser, and in the garage. I really wonder what he struggled with? I’ve just always seen this growing up but I never really read the words until now.
What did he want to change? Did he ever feel he succeeded in accepting things the way they are? My dad has always struggled with being happy. He would read self help books (taboo in the 80’s for a gruff man to want to try and feel better about himself). He took karate. Something we both did together. We were sparring parters which is funny when I look back on it. He was tall, measuring 6’5”. And I was only about 8 or 10 years old at the time. We practiced during the week at home, taking turns using the punching bag to practice our kicks. He joined a Bible study where we would take turns going to members houses studying the Bible and praying every Sunday night. I was the only child that attended. I think I was about 9 years old. My dad baptized me in one of the members pool. My dad bought me a fish tank and all the best filters, sand, and fish food. We picked out goldfish and brought them home. Later, when I only had one goldfish left, we took the goldfish to a friend who had a huge fish tank and provide a new home for him. My dad could have easily just flushed it down the drain. We went to our local park where I would bring my bike and bike along the trails. We would have a picnic by the lake. He would take me shooting with his friends. He showed me how to reload bullets. We road roller coasters together. Once we drove an hour to ride the tallest roller coaster in the United States. We then bought ‘I survived the Desperado’ shirts. I was proud to wear them. I helped my dad work on the cars. I had tiny hands and could reach into the small crevices under the hood. He showed me how to change the oil, how to jack up a car, and how to change the spark plugs. We rented movies each week from Blockbuster and pick up pizza for our weekly Friday pizza nights. We always went to 7-11 during our outings. I either got a slurpee or a cherry coke. He taught me to stick my finger in the soda to keep it from bubbling over. He took me to game stop to get my first Super Nintendo. My first games I got was street fighter and donkey Kong. He rushed to the hospital when he found out I broke my arm. He was still in his Southwest Gas uniform. My sister drove my mom and I to the hospital. We were together there as a family.
My dad loved me. He was proud of me. Funny thing is, this blog post was supposed to be about something else. How my dad never showed me any affection and how I had never seen my parents hug or kiss. It was about my childhood and how my parents didn’t think about my needs or wants. But now that I thought about all the things I did with my dad, I have to take those things back. He really did care for me. He couldn’t change some things, but he had the courage to change what he could. By spending time with me. I was his little buddy and loved hanging out with him. All these things we did, was always just him and I.
He helped me move to Reno when I moved away for college. He really hated that I moved away but he was proud of me that I was pursuing my degree in engineering. He supported me in my decision to become an engineer, when others thought it was no place for a girl. He was proud that I was 1 of 5 girls in a mechanical engineering class that consisted of 150 students, 145 of them being boys. He was proud of my engineering tech jobs and we were able to ‘talk shop’. He was so upset when I had to deal with harassment at my job where I was the only female cad designer. Again, men thinking I didn’t belong in the field and that I should just ‘do paperwork’ (real words from a boss). My dad had my back. I just hope he knew that I had his back, forever and always.
He’s the one I talked to when calling home. He’s the one that I looked up to. He’s the reason I went into engineering. I loved fixing things with him. The car, the failed vhs player, or the sprinklers. He never doubted me and never tried to persuade me to pursue a degree more suited for a ‘woman’. He knew I was just as good as any boy in my class.
He got me a job at his work, Southwest Gas, first as a meter reader. He would take me around our neighborhood showing me how to read the meters. I remember taking the test and then getting a call from the HR lady. She loved my dad and saw that there was an opening for an engineering tech. I already had experience in that field, previously working at another underground utility company. I was excited. My dad would come and see me anytime he was in the office. “Hi, Dad!”, I would exclaim every time he came to visit. Not only was he proud of me, but I was proud of HIM. No he wasn’t a manager or worked for corporate. He was a service technician. He would turn on people’s gas, relight their pilot light on their water heater so they could take a warm shower, troubleshooted the gas meter. Even though he was a gruff looking guy, he was the gentle giant. He could never hurt anything or anyone. But yet, he eternally hurt himself that day he died.
I was reflecting on my grief and the many years it’s been since my dad died (6.5 years ago). My dad died by suicide and that’s a ‘normal’ part of my life now, and part of my identity. When I think of my dad, I think of his passing. Not always in a sad sense, but just a neutral sense. Like how some people’s fathers die of heart attacks, old age, or cancer, mine died by suicide. It’s taken awhile for me to get to that neutral point but here I am. And it’s sad that this is just normal for me.
There’s many things that were normal for me but not for others. Things that I still have to process as an adult. But I understand that my dad TRIED. He tried to change. And I believe he did. Maybe not in a way that was ‘normal’, but he did the best he could.
We can do hard things. What is hard for one, is easy for another. So don’t judge peoples growth and timelines. Don’t be negative, wondering why someone can’t just be a certain way or complete an easy task. It really may not be easy for them. Instead, show them your support. We could all use a little support and understanding these days.
My dad made the most selfish decision he could make, that had a lasting effect on his children, grandchildren, and generations to come. He chose to take his life. I don’t think he realized how selfish it was until it was too late.
How could he not see that we would be completely devastated by his selfish decision? I cringe when I hear people joke about them wanting to shoot themselves. My kids have witnessed some of these comments where something so innocent is actually traumatizing. Please don’t joke and say you want to kill yourself. You have no idea what that aftermath is like. I know it can be an innocent comment, but to others it’s not. I’ve said things like that before my dad passed. Naive to what it really means.
I am very torn. I am mad because he was so selfish to think this wouldn’t hurt us. Leaving everlasting consequences that WE have to suffer through for the rest of our lives.
But I also know that he was suffering. He just wanted the pain and suffering to end. But why didn’t he talk to us more about it? Open up? We would have done anything to help him. We were helping him.
It’s just so hard sometimes knowing he’s gone and knowing he did it to himself. Maybe he could have still been here if he didn’t make that awful decision. Maybe he could have seen my kids excel in sports or take them out shooting. It could have gotten better. And it hurts like no other that he chose to take his life instead. Instead of seeing his grandchildren grow. Or seeing the progress I’ve made in my life.
Maybe he did know already that we were going to be ok. Maybe he trusted my sister, mom, and I that we would be there for our kids. Maybe he knew that we were in good hands already. I know he was proud of us. He didn’t really show it. But I know he was. The way he talked to his friends about us. Maybe he felt it was ok to leave this life, knowing he did the best he could to survive. And I have to commend him for that.
I found out recently that my dad’s half sister, my aunt, passed away last year. I searched her family out and received the news. It was devastating at first to hear but she lived a long good life. She loved her kids and grandchildren so much. She taught me how to cross stitch. Her smile was contagious. She had been through some awful trauma in her youth and said in a letter to my dad years ago that her baby brother Stephen was the light of her life. He brought brightness into her life when her life was very dark. His slobbery kisses and big hugs and joyful smile brought her so much joy. (She was a teen when my dad was born).
They are both rid of their lasting trauma that they dealt with in their lives. I can just picture them smiling, laughing, and having the best time being reunited.
Gosh I miss them both! They were so brave when things got bad in their lives. I’ve been through my own devastating trauma decades ago that has come to light again. Trauma is a funny thing. It comes back in the middle of nowhere. When I least expect it, memories of what happened just flash before my eyes. I have to relive what happened and it’s not pretty. I became a shaking awful mess. Full blown panic attack. That’s about as much as I will say because this trauma is nothing that I want to talk about (in therapy yes). I don’t ever want to relive it ever again. But I wish my aunt was here, and my dad, to ask how they got over their hard times in their lives. I just want to hug them and tell them how brave they are. And maybe that’s what I want to tell myself. That I am brave. I am worth it, and I matter.
I feel like everything I’ve gone through in my life, all the devastating awful things, is to truly help others. To those quiet kids in school, you matter! To the children with dysfunctional families that are told they will never amount to anything, that’s wrong! You matter! To anyone and everyone: YOU MATTER! It doesn’t matter your status or color or religion or any of that stuff. Everyone matters. Just. Be. Kind. ❤️
Our last picture together. One month before he passed.
Yesterday marks 6 years since my dad died. Some years are ok and some years the anniversary stings.
I woke up in a panic at 4am yesterday morning. A sense of doom washed over me. Was one of my family members sick? Did someone die? Instantly my mind replayed that early morning 6 years ago. the early morning call telling me my dad died. That sense of deep hurt and sorrow. I was thinking how I was already on the road at 4am 6 years ago with my baby in tow, rushing to get to my family 8 hours away. That’s why I woke up in despair. My mind was replaying everything from that awful day 6 years ago.
I feel like I always have to write this, for anyone that actually reads this 😅: this is not me looking for pity. I write as a journal and for others to read it that may be struggling with the same things I am. That go through a traumatic loss. There’s lots of shame, guilt, sorrow and pain that goes along with it all. It’s not pretty or easy. It’s especially not easy to share my vulnerabilities to the internet world, but I feel I need to so I can help people.
I am an avid reader and currently I am reading an autobiography called, ‘The Hiding Place’ by Corrie Ten Boon. In it she states, “Today I know that such memories are the key not to the past but to the future. I know that the experiences of our lives, when we let God use them, become the mysterious and perfect preparation for the work He will give us to do.”
Maybe that is the work I am supposed to do. To use my experiences to help others. I know that everything I’ve been through, mistakes I made, traumas I’ve faced, has me right where God wants me. The trauma of my dad’s passing was not the first traumatizing event I’ve experienced. Situations in my childhood, teen, and early adult life has had its traumatic events. Some things I just don’t feel comfortable talking about and that’s ok. But these traumas has made me who I am. I am more compassionate, less judgmental, and feel for the outsiders. I want everyone to feel loved and included. Why? Because I know what it’s like to be bullied, judged, left out, unloved, and unheard. I see the good in everyone. I am learning more and more, this year especially, to set boundaries. Even though I see the good in people, I sometimes don’t see the red flags along the way. Not everyone wants help or has the same intentions as me. Boundaries are key! Speaking up for yourself is essential!
We shouldn’t have to struggle alone. Hang in there friends! Just. Be. Kind. ❤️
I will never forget this feeling, the days and weeks after my dad died. It’s like I was completely disconnected from reality and just wondered about so many things.
My mom, sister, and I were just zombies that first week. We would sit in silence at times. Other times I soothed my mom from her crying. But most of the time I sat there in a paused state of mind thinking, how can the world keep going? How can people still walk their dog? How can people go shopping? How can anyone do anything because the world I knew, had completely stopped. My world crashed, but everything and everyone else kept going. Didn’t they know what tragedy just happened? Why aren’t they in this same state of mind? The brain is funny like that. Maybe it was just trying to process what happened.
In all that blur, I don’t really remember much of that first week that I spent at my families house, away from my own family. I don’t think any of us really ate. I don’t remember all the calls I made on my mom’s behalf. Hoping there wasn’t a clause in my dad’s life insurance policy that if he took his life, the spouse couldn’t get the money. Having to explain this to the woman on the other line was hard. How would my mom be able to live now? I don’t remember calling everyone in my dad’s address book. All his friends that were just as shocked as we were. I don’t remember my sister taking the phone over from my mom because she couldn’t go over in detail how she found my dad. It was too hard. the police sympathized with her. I don’t remember calling to tell my Aunt, my mom’s twin and best friend, what happened to my dad. She was so worried about her. I don’t remember if I even slept. I don’t remember how I even took care of my 6 month old that I brought with me! I don’t remember meeting with the funeral home staff and planning his burial and funeral. I don’t know how I made the 8 hour drive with my baby. It was like I did nothing at all.
My brain didn’t remember most of those details until a few months after. I couldn’t recall much of what we all did until later. The brain has a way of trying to protect us, saving those memories for later when we are more stable to mentally relive them.
I will never forget what it’s like when the world stops, and I am stuck frozen in time trying to figure out what just happened. I will never forget how proud I am of my sister and my mom. And of me. We’ve made it through the first rough years. We are coming up on the anniversary of his death. It will be 6years. Wow! Sometimes that seems forever ago and at the same time it feels like yesterday. My mom lives in the same town I live in (right down the street!). She loves it here. She reads books and we discuss them, she loves puzzles and I am amazed at how she can put a 1000 piece puzzle together so quickly. She watches movies and loves chatting with her sister every week. She faithfully uses her treadmill and climber every morning and picks up my mail for me everyday. She babysits my kids whenever I need her to. She loves to cook dinner for my family. My daughter recently requested her lasagna for her birthday dinner. She loves to go on shopping trips to the city and her favorite shopping buddy is my husband! I am still deciding on if that’s a good idea, those two together, because they end up spending hours in the stores and spending way more money than they should 😁
This quickly turned into a bragging post about my mom, but she sure deserves the recognition! She was married to my dad in June of 1969 and never apart for more than a week! That’s 48 1/2 years together. I am so proud of her, being able to live independently and prosper. She is very independent (probably where I got that from 😅) and continues to try and do as much as she can for herself.
If your world has stopped recently, and you are just going through the motions of life, seeing only grays, I feel you! I’ve been there! Soon enough you will see the colors of the flowers and trees, feel the breeze in your hair, and feel the warmth of the sun. Your life will come back. You have to be proud of yourself! Have faith in yourself. Time does help, it may not completely heal the wound (it never goes away) but time will bring happiness.
December is a time for happiness! Christmas songs, baking smells of cinnamon throughout the house, children’s laughter and pure happiness during the Christmas season. So many good times are to be had in the month of December. What about those that have lost their loved one during this joyous month? Or had a father that took his life the day after Christmas?
Ouch. That’s a heavy statement. The Christmas season isn’t the same anymore. I remember that Christmas right before my dad died. I was happy. I’ve struggled with anxiety and depression but I was truly happy. I remember dancing in the kitchen with my kids. I worked on a painting project the day after Christmas. I was excited for the future. Then I was woken up that night with the worst call anyone could get. “It’s dad. He died”. My world fell apart.
I am not missing the times my dad and I shared together during Christmas. That’s because we didn’t get together during December. My parents lived in a different state since I was 22. I was on my own since then. What we did have together was thanksgiving. We always came together at my sisters house. We enjoyed taking the kids to the zoo, museums, hikes, or the movies. With my dad always tagging along while my mom stayed home to cook.
Even though I didn’t spend time with my dad during the Christmas holidays, it’s still hard for me. Because my dad called before Christmas in pain. He was depressed and hurting. Then he took his life the day after Christmas. His birthday was December 29th. So all of the Christmas smells, all of the holiday songs, all of the snow, everything about Christmas reminds of the pain and suffering he went through.
It’s a tough time for some people. Don’t judge others. People can be angry this season. Maybe they are hurting inside. In anything you do, just. Be. Kind.
Sending love to those that are silently hurting or going through things we don’t talk about. I see you! I hear you! And you are not alone!
journey to hope and healing 