When my dad passed away, I figured once I got through that first year (the birthdays, anniversaries, holidays) without him, I thought the next year would get easier. It didn't...it just made it more real. The more time that passed, the longer I went without seeing him or hearing his voice.
Tomorrow is three years since he passed away. It's a day that is really tough on me. The only thing I want to do is be alone. I don't know if that's the best therapy or not, but it's what I need in that moment.
I expected each year to get a little easier and I would start a steady climb upwards in the healing and grieving process. Some days are better than others, but everyday I think of him. I think of words never said, I think of those last moments. I think of moments and memories that never got to be made. I think of how alone my mom is. I think of the loss my grandmother feels every day. I think about how I can't make myself go to the cemetery to visit his grave. I want to...so badly, but I just can't face it. And guess what, that makes me feel bad. I should visit his grave. I should have said things in those last moments. I should have said things through the years I had with him. But I didn't and I don't.
There have been so many emotions since the day he passed (and even the days leading up to his passing). Shock, sadness, anger, guilt.... My mom texted me last night and asked the question, "How do I get over this?" My response, "you won't, you'll just learn to eventually get through it." The pain doesn't ever go away, we just learn how to accept it and move on without him. He was taken in such a cruel way, he suffered so much in his last moments, which just isn't fair. He was in pain. He was so very sad. He didn't want to leave. The last time I saw him will be forever etched in my mind, which isn't fair. It's an ugly picture, a picture of pain and so much sadness.
It's weird when I'm going about my day and something triggers a memory. A song. A picture. A moment, its usually a quick glimmer of a memory that stops me dead in my tracks and leaves me breathless. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and try to remember. Because that's all I have - memories. Sometimes tears roll down my face. Sometimes those tears turn into a few minutes of complete sobbing. That's when I wonder when it will get easier. I wonder when "Let's breath" by Pearl Jam or seeing a corvette won't leave my heart aching. Because I've heard that it does get easier. I've heard that the heart ache will turn into just a dull ache. I've heard that it won't be so sad in a few years. I've heard it won't be so bad in a few years. It will get better...someday...
I've heard that one day, memories will make me smile instead of weep.
It's not fair that all these new and exciting events going on in my families life: a new house, the kids' accomplishments makes me feel a little sadness in my heart. Sadness because dad isn't here to see it. The bitterness I feel sometimes overwhelms and consumes me. People say to live your best life, because "your dad wouldn't want you to be sad, that is not what he would want." But it's so so hard.
When I lost my dad, it wasn't like when I lost my grandfather two years before. My grandfather lived a long a beautiful life. My dad was a bitter loss. An unfair loss. He was still young (69). It was a loss that left me doubting life, doubting things I could have, should have, done. I should have called him more. I should have visited him more. I should have helped more. These are cruel thoughts, constantly reeling through my brain like a hamster on a wheel.
I try not to let these thoughts eat me up. But somedays it's hard. On his birthday or Father's day I spend the whole day wishing I could call him. I wish I would have called all those previous years. I spend the whole day thinking of him. They are hard days. And just another constant reminder that he isn't here.
So as tomorrow comes around (September 28), it will be a hard day. I plan to take off work, go for a bike ride and be alone. Perhaps I will visit his grave, or just sit on my sofa and cry. And I guess that's OK. I can cry. I can still grieve. I guess there's no time limit on grief. I can take this process for as long as I need to. Maybe I'll never get over it. I'm not crying everyday, but I'm still grieving in my own way. And that's OK. There may always be a part of my heart that is broken from loss. I hope I find something that repairs that broken piece. Grieving doesn't make you weak. It makes you human.