One-Year Anniversary
When I was doing my internship with a hospice organization a few years ago, I spent some of that time working at its bereavement center. I learned a lot during that portion of my internship, but one thing I did learn is that the anniversaries are always the hardest.
Today is the one-year anniversary of my father's death.
I now understand what my supervisor meant.
I think my cousin put it best when she wrote her Facebook post that day:
Most do not realize how special someone is until they lose him/her. I knew how special my father was, but even I was a little slow in realizing it.
Growing up, I lived in the classic concept of the "ideal" 1950s household despite the fact that it was a few decades later. My mother was the stay-at-home wife while my father was the breadwinner. It was expected that my mom would have most of the interactions with us, not my dad. He was a distant father for my entire childhood. Our only real interactions during that time was when he asked "how was school today?" or when he needed to be the source of punishment when I did something really bad. At the time, I thought everyone's fathers were like that. To be honest, I do not blame him for being so distant. It was the way he was raised and what he believed was expected of him.
During that time, all the adults around me would tell me what a "great man" my father was, but I did not understand why as it was hard for me to see. I believed he was a good father. Great? I didn't know about that as I never got to know him during those years. To be honest, I knew more about my grandparents than my dad back then. Again, I thought this was "normal."
Then something strange happened during my first year of college.
It was in the spring semester and my parents came to visit me. My mother left to go out to the car while my father hung back. I expected him to do his usual "do you need any money?" bit, but I was wrong.
He sat down on my bed with me and we had our first real conversation. It was not the typical superficial questions about my well-being or school. He asked me questions in such a way that it was like he was finally seeing me as a person for the first time. Questions that showed he truly cared about me and was interested in what was going on in my life.
This was such a shock to me that I still remember this conversation from well over 25 years ago. It also changed our relationship drastically. My father was no longer the distant father, he was now my friend. We started talking about so many different subjects, my life's goals, his family and its history. We really started to get to know one another.
Ironically, I never did find out what spurred him to have that talk with me. To be honest, I never thought to ask. I felt blessed that we had that conversation as it gave me one of the best friend's a person could ever hope to have for over 25 years.
I will say that I am proud to have him as my father. He made not have been the best at that job, but he became such a good friend, which was something I never expected. I will say my cousin was a bit wrong. My father wasn't a good man but rather a GREAT man.
Daddy,
I miss you. I wish you were still here but I know we were on borrowed time since you developed chronic heart failure. I just wish I could have been there to say goodbye to you.
Why did you not tell us how bad your heart was? After talking with your doctors, you just never let us know how bad it really was. Your Irish came out in this as you were one stubborn man. I just wish you had told me so I could tell you how much I love you and how much you mean to me. I know that you did not want us to worry, but you did not give me this opportunity. I am not mad at you. I am mad at myself for never saying this to you earlier. I hope you knew. That is all I can ask.
I still feel the guilt of not seeing you for over a year. I hope you will forgive me for not getting down to see you sooner. I know you said you understood when my life and health got in the way but I knew you were disappointed. I am sorry. I still kick myself for not setting an arrival date for my flight for a few days earlier. I know it is not logical but I will feel this guilt for the rest of my life.
I understand you had to go when you did. After a year in hospice, I learned that people do have some control over when they die. I think you waited as long as you could, but your heart just would not go along. However, you also knew I was coming down to visit in a couple of days and I would be there to take care of mom for you. You knew I was the responsible one, the rock for the family. I understand that you did your best in waiting. I just hope I lived up to your expectations and did what you needed me to do as I tried my best. Heck, I even tried to find a NY Giants urn for you but I couldn't. Licensing issues I guess. I did try though.
I am sorry for all those years I was the rebellious Child From Hell that made your life miserable. I know at first you did not expect much from me as I disdained authority, hated school, and was probably the worst daughter a girl could be during that period of my life. I also know things have changed dramatically since then. Who would have thought I would end up with three Master's degrees and work as a college professor? I hope you are proud of me now and forgive me for being such a brat.
I miss your wisdom when I am not sure what to do. I miss hearing your voice when you answered the phone. I especially miss our political debates, despite the fact you thought Trump was a good candidate and you watched FoxNews way too much. I miss you telling me stories about your family and your life. I miss your laugh and your jokes. I still remember how surprised I was when you told me that "BS equals bullshit, MS is more shit, and PhD is piled higher and deeper." It was so unexpected from you, my prim and proper father. I started seeing the real you at that time. You were funny, smart and a good person, all the things a father should be. I miss having you there for me.
Daddy, please know that I still love you with all my heart and I am so proud to call you my father. Life has not been the same since you left. I know you are still looking out for me wherever you are. Please don't stop. I am still far from perfect and I can use all the help I can get these days.
Your daughter.
Today is the one-year anniversary of my father's death.
I now understand what my supervisor meant.
I think my cousin put it best when she wrote her Facebook post that day:
He was an amazing man. A smart and powerful business man. A loving caring father, husband, brother, and uncle. There were many times in my life when he was there for me, a shoulder when I lost my father, and more then a place to live when it was time for me to live my dream of moving to Cape Cod. He was truly a good man and will be missed by all.
Most do not realize how special someone is until they lose him/her. I knew how special my father was, but even I was a little slow in realizing it.
Growing up, I lived in the classic concept of the "ideal" 1950s household despite the fact that it was a few decades later. My mother was the stay-at-home wife while my father was the breadwinner. It was expected that my mom would have most of the interactions with us, not my dad. He was a distant father for my entire childhood. Our only real interactions during that time was when he asked "how was school today?" or when he needed to be the source of punishment when I did something really bad. At the time, I thought everyone's fathers were like that. To be honest, I do not blame him for being so distant. It was the way he was raised and what he believed was expected of him.
During that time, all the adults around me would tell me what a "great man" my father was, but I did not understand why as it was hard for me to see. I believed he was a good father. Great? I didn't know about that as I never got to know him during those years. To be honest, I knew more about my grandparents than my dad back then. Again, I thought this was "normal."
Then something strange happened during my first year of college.
It was in the spring semester and my parents came to visit me. My mother left to go out to the car while my father hung back. I expected him to do his usual "do you need any money?" bit, but I was wrong.
He sat down on my bed with me and we had our first real conversation. It was not the typical superficial questions about my well-being or school. He asked me questions in such a way that it was like he was finally seeing me as a person for the first time. Questions that showed he truly cared about me and was interested in what was going on in my life.
This was such a shock to me that I still remember this conversation from well over 25 years ago. It also changed our relationship drastically. My father was no longer the distant father, he was now my friend. We started talking about so many different subjects, my life's goals, his family and its history. We really started to get to know one another.
Ironically, I never did find out what spurred him to have that talk with me. To be honest, I never thought to ask. I felt blessed that we had that conversation as it gave me one of the best friend's a person could ever hope to have for over 25 years.
I will say that I am proud to have him as my father. He made not have been the best at that job, but he became such a good friend, which was something I never expected. I will say my cousin was a bit wrong. My father wasn't a good man but rather a GREAT man.
***
The other lesson I learned from my time at the bereavement center was that everyone grieves differently. My loved ones have always turned to me to be their rock during difficult times, even when I was younger. I do not know if it is because I can be strong in times of need or if I just learned how to be strong when needed. Because of this, I am not one to grieve openly. Instead, my grief is done in private, alone. It allows me to fully express my sadness and feelings of loss.
While some may say this is not "healthy," as I am not "getting it out," this is what works for me. I do have my own "healthy" ways to express my grief and writing is one of them. It allows me to pour my heart and soul out in my way. This post is part of that.
While some may say this is not "healthy," as I am not "getting it out," this is what works for me. I do have my own "healthy" ways to express my grief and writing is one of them. It allows me to pour my heart and soul out in my way. This post is part of that.
The other part is this: a letter to my father, wherever he may be.
***
Daddy,
I miss you. I wish you were still here but I know we were on borrowed time since you developed chronic heart failure. I just wish I could have been there to say goodbye to you.
Why did you not tell us how bad your heart was? After talking with your doctors, you just never let us know how bad it really was. Your Irish came out in this as you were one stubborn man. I just wish you had told me so I could tell you how much I love you and how much you mean to me. I know that you did not want us to worry, but you did not give me this opportunity. I am not mad at you. I am mad at myself for never saying this to you earlier. I hope you knew. That is all I can ask.
I still feel the guilt of not seeing you for over a year. I hope you will forgive me for not getting down to see you sooner. I know you said you understood when my life and health got in the way but I knew you were disappointed. I am sorry. I still kick myself for not setting an arrival date for my flight for a few days earlier. I know it is not logical but I will feel this guilt for the rest of my life.
I understand you had to go when you did. After a year in hospice, I learned that people do have some control over when they die. I think you waited as long as you could, but your heart just would not go along. However, you also knew I was coming down to visit in a couple of days and I would be there to take care of mom for you. You knew I was the responsible one, the rock for the family. I understand that you did your best in waiting. I just hope I lived up to your expectations and did what you needed me to do as I tried my best. Heck, I even tried to find a NY Giants urn for you but I couldn't. Licensing issues I guess. I did try though.
I am sorry for all those years I was the rebellious Child From Hell that made your life miserable. I know at first you did not expect much from me as I disdained authority, hated school, and was probably the worst daughter a girl could be during that period of my life. I also know things have changed dramatically since then. Who would have thought I would end up with three Master's degrees and work as a college professor? I hope you are proud of me now and forgive me for being such a brat.
I miss your wisdom when I am not sure what to do. I miss hearing your voice when you answered the phone. I especially miss our political debates, despite the fact you thought Trump was a good candidate and you watched FoxNews way too much. I miss you telling me stories about your family and your life. I miss your laugh and your jokes. I still remember how surprised I was when you told me that "BS equals bullshit, MS is more shit, and PhD is piled higher and deeper." It was so unexpected from you, my prim and proper father. I started seeing the real you at that time. You were funny, smart and a good person, all the things a father should be. I miss having you there for me.
Daddy, please know that I still love you with all my heart and I am so proud to call you my father. Life has not been the same since you left. I know you are still looking out for me wherever you are. Please don't stop. I am still far from perfect and I can use all the help I can get these days.
Your daughter.
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