It has been three years today, August 16, 2012, since my dad passed away. Three years ago today, my husband was in South Africa with his siblings and their father, mourning the loss of my mother-in-law. Yes, three years ago, my husband and I both lost a parent in a matter of one week. We were discussing this the other day as we were returning from a camping trip. We met and came from worlds apart sixteen years ago, yet had something so significant happen to us the same week in time so many years later. At the time, it seemed so surreal and it still seems somewhat mysterious.
I'll never forget this ridiculous statement I said just minutes after my father was pronounced dead at the emergency room. Very inappropriately, I said that my mother-in-law must be saying, "Dennis, what are you doing here?" Yes, I actually said that, to my mother of all people and yes, I tried to mimic her lovely South African accent as I said it. But, that's how incomprehensible it all was and I'm sure I was simply trying to cope.
I recently read an account I had written just days after, about what transpired that week. In it I wrote how we had learned just two weeks prior to Penny's death that the end was near from a cancer she battled for at least two years; about how my father had just finished cooking us all dinner on the grill when he suffered a heart attack and I held his face in one hand and his left hand in the other and he very abruptly took one of his last breaths as a tear left his eye and slowly journeyed down his cheek. I could very much dwell on these things and find myself full of grief or allow myself the stress of memorializing the trauma that occurred even that one day.
There is a periodic, but remarkable sadness that my children don't have a grandfather here in the states, there will always be an emptiness and a sorrow that my brother and I both have children whom my father would have adored, but he never knew because they were born after his death. I especially feel that grief for my brother, who had the best relationship with my dad; he knew how to forgive him, honor him and how to be his friend. He was such a good son, regardless of what kind of parent my dad was. My dad would have been so proud of my brother for the father that he is today. My dad loved all his children, but our relationships were quite strained. I find it strange now that it doesn't take away the enormity of the loss.
I often see my kids do something cute or a new skill and I wish I could share it with my mother-in-law. For a moment, I forget that she is no longer here. I think she would have absolutely adored my little girl, as would have, my dad. I wish my dad could have been there for my brother when he lost one of his twin boys, who was my dad's namesake. His death only seven months prior made it even more of a strain on my brother and all of us really, I'm sure. I wish he had been here for my three boys as their little baby sister was fighting for her life in the NICU and hospital for weeks on end.
When my dad died, my friend shared with me that she wished she could tell me that it gets better, but that it doesn't and that she always misses her dad. She had shared her thoughts with me in the initial period when a grieving person is absolutely exhausted. The time when running one errand to the store feels like you accomplished something big. So, when she said that, I dismissed it and thought, "that just cannot be true, no one could live like that." She also had an incredible relationship with her dad, I really didn't. So, that also made me dismiss her account. Now, I realize what she meant. It really doesn't get better because you will now always feel that absence.
I recently read an account I had written just days after, about what transpired that week. In it I wrote how we had learned just two weeks prior to Penny's death that the end was near from a cancer she battled for at least two years; about how my father had just finished cooking us all dinner on the grill when he suffered a heart attack and I held his face in one hand and his left hand in the other and he very abruptly took one of his last breaths as a tear left his eye and slowly journeyed down his cheek. I could very much dwell on these things and find myself full of grief or allow myself the stress of memorializing the trauma that occurred even that one day.
There is a periodic, but remarkable sadness that my children don't have a grandfather here in the states, there will always be an emptiness and a sorrow that my brother and I both have children whom my father would have adored, but he never knew because they were born after his death. I especially feel that grief for my brother, who had the best relationship with my dad; he knew how to forgive him, honor him and how to be his friend. He was such a good son, regardless of what kind of parent my dad was. My dad would have been so proud of my brother for the father that he is today. My dad loved all his children, but our relationships were quite strained. I find it strange now that it doesn't take away the enormity of the loss.
I often see my kids do something cute or a new skill and I wish I could share it with my mother-in-law. For a moment, I forget that she is no longer here. I think she would have absolutely adored my little girl, as would have, my dad. I wish my dad could have been there for my brother when he lost one of his twin boys, who was my dad's namesake. His death only seven months prior made it even more of a strain on my brother and all of us really, I'm sure. I wish he had been here for my three boys as their little baby sister was fighting for her life in the NICU and hospital for weeks on end.
When my dad died, my friend shared with me that she wished she could tell me that it gets better, but that it doesn't and that she always misses her dad. She had shared her thoughts with me in the initial period when a grieving person is absolutely exhausted. The time when running one errand to the store feels like you accomplished something big. So, when she said that, I dismissed it and thought, "that just cannot be true, no one could live like that." She also had an incredible relationship with her dad, I really didn't. So, that also made me dismiss her account. Now, I realize what she meant. It really doesn't get better because you will now always feel that absence.
As my children grow and I am witnessing my firstborn enter into the teens, it really brings to mind quite often the old cliche, that time flies. It really does.
Life can't be what you wish it was or is.
