Getting On With Grief: 5 Years without my Dad
“It’s been 5 years since my Dad died.”
“My Dad died 5 years ago today.”
“My Dad’s been gone 5 years.”
No matter how I say it, it still feels surreal. It’s not just that so much time has passed. It’s that so much has changed.
Type in grief to your Google search bar and you’ll find a plethora of advice out there. I’ve read a bunch of books, followed some grief focused accounts on socials, and have listened to a podcast or two.
One reality I’ve discovered firsthand?
It’s not just the dying you need to adjust to. It’s the living that goes on after that requires adjustment too.
I’ve lived 5 years without my Dad. And in those 5 years, I’ve grown into a new person. I’m still me, but not the same. Same shell, changed soul.
When Dad died, I was a 32 year old single girl renting a 2 bedroom “bachelorette pad”. My social life and schedule were entirely my own. I was an adult but not an adult. I had worries, but looking back they were laughable.
Fast forward 5 years, and I have a new last name, a mortgage payment, an old house, two young kids, and a schedule that is rarely my own. I now worry about the cost of healthcare premiums and I stay up past 10pm once a quarter.
Who is this person? Would he even recognize me? When I lost my Dad, I lost my sense of innocence, my naïveté. I lost some of that sense of optimism and hope that had been part of my natural demeanor up to that point.
In the time since, a thousand moments have been lived. He’s missed so much…(or has he? A debate for another time.) My Dad was missing on my wedding day, absent from professional milestones, and glaringly not there to be called Grandpa. These circumstances show me every day that gratitude and grief can coexist.
It’s been long enough that when I meet new people, they innocently ask about my parents, and I don’t know what to say.
“Are your parents local?”
“My mom is…Dad passed away.” Or…
“My mom is.” (No mention of Dad) Or…
“Yes.”
All feel weird or like an over/under explanation.
I always hoped my Dad would be there for all of my biggest moments. Honestly, I just assumed he would be and took that hope for granted. When he died suddenly on a cold December night, my future expectations no longer matched what became my reality.
This left me angry and heartbroken for so long. I’m still angry and heartbroken, but it’s a duller ache than it was before.
As the 5 year milestone loomed closer, I felt more and more reflective. Throw in being 3 months postpartum and I was all in my feels. I don’t think it was a coincidence that I came across this quote at the beginning of the month.
“The idea is not to live forever, but to create something that will.” Andy Warhol
In a time of change and confusion and mixed feelings, this brought a sense of peace.
My Dad couldn’t be there for certain moments. He won’t be there for moments in the future. But he did create something that lasted, that will live forever in me.
I feel his sense of humor and playfulness in my daughter Maddie. I see him in my son Colin’s smirk. I bring him to life when I insert movie quotes into casual conversation like he did, or when I share stories about him, or when I order chicken and biscuits at Hafner’s. His memory will live on forever in the Kentucky Derby, his high school buddies and a cold Coors Light. His spirit will shine through when we play arcade games in Lake George or take the kids to Universal Studios for the LaTour version of a great Griswold family vacation.
It brings me comfort to think about his life this way. It was never meant to be forever. However, he created something forever not just in me, but in everybody that knew him.
And, hopefully, just by being you, you are doing the same in the people that know you.
Oh, and that young, optimistic, free girl he knew? I still catch glimpses of her every now and then too. She lives on as well.
Here’s to hoping you catch glimpses of what your lost loved ones created this holiday season and beyond. Merry Christmas.
