A Letter (P3)

You passed away early in the morning on May 8th, 2012. I returned to the hospital and sat with you for hours. You were a shell, it was clear you were gone.

What do I do now? I can only watch as you slip away from me, thinking of moments you will never see, that I always wanted you to see. This isn't fair.

I don’t know what to do. I want you to know everything. I want you to see that I’m here, holding your hand, loving you. I want you to know you’re not alone, that you are loved. I hold tight to your hands as they start getting colder. I touch your head and there is still warmth. I hold on to it. I don’t want it to go away. You’re still here with me, I know you are, you have to be... I want you to be. I try to hear it, the sound of life, the sound that life hasn’t been stolen from us. I want you to be here, to wake up. I wait for it. I wait…

My head is so full. I know that nothing can be done. I wait for that miracle. The one that always happens in dreams. When I see you rise up, the machines magically start beeping again. I know at any minute you’ll be here with me, talking about your friends, your garden, what kind of pie you’ll be making soon. I keep waiting. I hear a slight voice in the air, I want it to be you, to hear your voice... “I love you, baby” is whispered in my ear.

Then the silence... No more sounds, no more thoughts. You’re gone. My head is back on your chest. I want your spirit to hear, I want you to know the story, the story you’ll never witness, never see, the gift I so desperately wanted to give you… the story of my life with you in it.

This story has weighed on me for quite some time. Those who have lost a parent at a young age or even in adulthood process grief in one way or another. It can be complicated and varied. At times it pushes us to confront our mortality, our inevitable end. It can lead to self destructive behavior and/or healing. In my case, it led to a year of processing the relationship I had with my father. I was no longer able to talk to him or hear what he had to say, I had to create a new dialogue within myself. I ended and entered a few relationships, I began a journey of self-actualization. I started to connect with myself more. I stopped blaming things in my life on my relationship or lack there of with my parents. I took ownership of myself and built a loving relationship with my life and the memory of my father. I woke up.

I am now married with kids, and my heart aches knowing my father will never meet them. He would have loved my husband and would have adored my children. I am crippled by the loss at times. Sometimes I think the pain will lessen, but even now as I write this, I miss him. I also see that I was given a gift. I was with my father in the end, I was there holding his hand. His life ended with me in it. That was always a worry of mine, that I wouldn't be able to say goodbye. My father was quirky, artistic, complicated. I see that in myself and I cherish it. I cherish what I can pass down to my children. Life is way too short to be normal, to be mean, to try and fit in. Life is meant to be lived and to include others in the journey. I hope I do better.

Be well!

“Well, here at last, dear friends, on the shores of the Sea comes the end of our fellowship in Middle-earth. Go in peace! I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil.” ― J.R.R. Tolkien, (Gandalf) The Return of the King (Because Dad would say the same thing).