Grief, a different perspective

How my relationship changed with my father after he died.

It’s been almost two years since my father passed suddenly from our lives. Death of a loved one is a traumatizing event and although I am not unique in this experience, it often feels like a long lonely road. Each of us will go through losing someone we love at some point in our lives. Once it happens to you, it’s as if you are given a special card that you begin to carry that says, “Dead Dad’s Club.” You can pull it out and show others who carry the same card and there is an immediate knowing or connection between the two of you. I believe there are other cards, like “dead sister, mother, wife, husband, child, etc.” These experiences bond us in ways like motherhood bonds women or divorcees bond over failed marriages.

It doesn’t make it any easier. It’s just an acknowledgment of what each of us has been through or is going through as grief is not something that has an end. At first it is like being in the middle of a tumultuous sea and you are just trying to do anything you can to keep your head above water. In the beginning everyday is a struggle. For me sleep was welcome because I could forget for 8 hours. I remember looking at myself in the mirror and seeing just emptiness in my eyes. Then you hear things from others whose dates on their cards say, ”Member since 2008.” These people are many years into their grief and they’ll tell you things like “trust the process” or “it gets lighter.” And it does, the waves aren’t as big. The sun does come out and you begin to laugh a little more. Light starts to return to your eyes. The tears don’t flood everyday, they start to come more randomly. They come when I am listening to a song or in the car driving, watching a sad movie or sometimes a happy one. Birthdays, holidays and anniversaries aren’t as hard as one might think because I am actually prepared for them. It’s the random day in the middle of the week, a feeling, the sense of loss comes out of nowhere. These episodes are spontaneous and can find you anywhere, they are not discretionary.

I have gotten used to this now. I almost welcome it. But there was something that I did not expect, a change in my relationship with my dad.

The other day, I was talking with a client. He asked me something that might seem a bit far fetched if not a little controversial. He asked if I could clone my father and have him back in the flesh would I do it.

Most of you would think…of course, of course! But I surprised myself and said, no.

I already had a wonderful relationship with my dad. He did not die young nor did he die very old. He probably could have lived another 15 to 20 years more, but he did have a full life. His death wasn’t tragic, we all got to say goodbye. He accomplished things he wanted to in his life. I didn’t have any unresolved issues. There was nothing left unsaid. So there really was no reason for him to magically come back with science or some other Harry Potter like fantasy.

But the real reason I said no is that I realize that I am enjoying a new relationship with my father. Yes, I still consider that I have one with him. Death has not taken this from me.

My relationship with my father has evolved into something else. This is what surprised me. I can’t see him anymore nor can I actually hear his voice on this plane. I can’t touch him or give him a hug. I can’t watch him waterski, play baseball, sing or dance. I can’t rest my head on his shoulder when I am sad and feel his arm wrap around me in security and comfort. The physical presence of him is gone, but he is still here.

I hear him all the time. I have conversations with him still and I am not crazy. My client joked that he’s probably a really great listener and you know what, he is. He was always great at giving me advice and being a voice of reason in my life and he still is. I laugh thinking about him and the stories he would tell or even knowing what he would say in any given situation. I talk to him on my walks when I need advice. I hear him telling me how proud he is of me. He tells me to slow down and enjoy my kids and life a little more. These messages come loud and clear, “Now Maria, slow down, take it easy, don’t sweat the small stuff.” I hear him when I meet someone new and I find myself asking the random 20 questions my dad would ask. I remember his guidance and his sense of humor and his love. I feel it all the time. My connection to him is just different.

He is a part of me. I come from him. We will always be connected. Love does not die it changes. I haven’t lost that. I don’t feel that he is gone, I feel that he has changed. If you always focus on what is lost then you can never be open to what is new. It is a transformation. I have learned to just feel his love, his laughter, his curiosity and adventurous spirit. I try to be present and open enough to encounter it. I can’t call him on the phone, but I can choose to feel him when I need to.

Grief is transformation. We are losing one thing and gaining another. It’s ok to feel sad about what we no longer have that was dear to us. We wouldn’t be human if we didn’t. And like the saying goes when one door closes another opens, but if we spend all of our time missing what we have lost we won’t see the opportunity to gain something new. It might not be better or worse, it’s just different.

He always said that when someone dies, it’s sad for a while but life goes on. “You will be sad, you will miss me Maria, but your life will go on.” He would want that for all of us, I just think he might not have realized in what way it does go on. There is no loss only a change in perspective.