re:Things to do after your dad dies
I just got done reading this post from the blog For No One and I feel like it gave me the courage to talk about when my dad died. I've alluded to it in previous posts, but never got into the weeds of it. I think part of me is afraid of digging up that day from the grave so-to-speak. I still remember that day, almost every detail even 10+ years later. This is gonna be a hard one to write.
I want to first extend my condolences to OP. I don't know what she may be going through right now, because as of writing this, her father's death is barely a few weeks old. If you're reading this, I hope you're holding up, my emails are open if you want to reach out.
Obvious trigger warning about death. Let's do this, this is gonna be a bit of a downer. So, I'm sorry in advance.
My dad was sick the night before he died. Just a seemingly normal cold/flu. Maybe we should have known better. A while prior to that, doctors had diagnosed him with pneumonia. Shows what they know.
The next morning he was still sick. My parents dropped me off at school as normal. Last words I heard from my dad were "Love you, Punk. Have a good day at school." Last thing I said to my dad was "Love you, dad. See you soon."
This was God's dramatic irony I suppose.
My day at school was normal. About halfway through my 3rd class for the day, a student came with a note for me to come to the office. I was confused, I was worried I did something wrong. Knowing me at 13, not out of the realm of plausibility.
I get to the office and my aunt is standing there, with a look on her face that even an autistic teenager like me could tell was grim. Hell the whole office was eerily quiet.
"Hey Auntie, what are you doing here?", "We need to go, it's your dad", "Oh god! Is he okay?", "Let's just go". I think it was that lack of a straight answer that made me figure it out immediately. I remember on the car ride there I thought to myself "My dad is dead". The pain of that realization made me suppress it. Denial is the first stage of grief.
I get to the hospital and my mom is in the waiting room. With tears in her eyes, she tells me "we lost daddy". I felt my world flip upside down, and my body felt like it was made of lead. I sunk to the floor crying harder than I ever had before.
We walk into the room, and there he was. Cold. Pale. The man I thought to be invincible, was dead. He was surrounded by my mom, me, my uncles, and my grandad (the good one).
I won't go into too much more detail. The rest of the day was just quiet. As if the world outside got put on mute. I remember a fight almost broke out between one of my uncles and some old guy who got in his face for not helping him and his wife... for some reason. Guess we were all just having a bad day.
We went to Chili's for lunch as one big family. My uncle, to try and break the sadness, announced that my aunt was pregnant with their first. The tearful joy of my mom, emotions probably going through whiplash, allowed a bit of ease.
It was about a year later when my mom told me her side of the events. How they went to the hospital to get my dad checked up. How fast he dropped. The lights coming on in the ambulance ride there. Him, in his last moments, fighting the hospital staff trying to get him on a stretcher. My dad was a big guy, 6'3 270+lbs. I feel bad for the staff who tried to handle the guy who once single-handed lifted a fridge onto a truck bed.
She told me the hospital tried to send her the bill and she threatened to sue for malpractice. The bill quickly disappeared.
I've since learned that my emotions seemingly evaporate as a trauma response. For the longest time I felt nothing. Not sadness, not anger, not joy, just nothing. Every time I go to a funeral, my emotions seem to stay outside.
His organs were donated and he was cremated as per his wishes. Part of his ashes were put into a necklace for my mom, and another part was put into a little orb that has a silver and blue spiral in the center. It's sat on my desk every day since.
His memorial came around. He didn't want a bunch of people crying over him. So, instead of a funeral mourning his death, we did a memorial to celebrate his life. 2 floors filled with people he's impacted. People from car shows, people from the club he was in, people he used to work with. People always talk about wanting to leave their mark on the world, and I think my dad accomplished that.
It was filled with laughter, music, me and several family friends all grabbed our guitars and sang some songs. A childhood friend and I did a duet, "Little Talks" by Of Monsters and Men.
It's been over 13 years since my dad passed. It still hurts to talk about. It still hurts that as I grow older he's not there. It hurts to have not seen him at my wedding. It still hurts that as my daughter grows older he's not there. He would have loved her and my wife. He would have made an amazing grandpa. The pain never goes away, it just gets easier to live with.
Through the dark there is light. If he hadn't passed, I never would have gone through the events that lead me to meeting my wife and having my daughter. Like cosmic dominoes in a way.
When people we love die, especially at a young age (my dad was about 42), we get reminded how short life is. We get reminded to love our friends and family with our whole self. We learn that tomorrow is not guaranteed, and that we should appreciate our loved ones and the moments we have.
While those we love are not here any more, they live through our actions and our memories of them. My mom always tells my wife, if she ever wanted to know what my dad was like to just look at me. I live as an echo of my dad. I remember the lessons he taught me and the memories I have of him. While we may forget the sound of their voice, we never forget the impact they have on us.
They say that grief is love with nowhere to go, and I think it's accurate. We will always yearn for those who are no longer there to be next to us. No matter how much time we've spent with them while they were alive, we still wish we could have spent more time with them.
If there's someone in your life that you hold dear. Tell them what they mean to you. Call them, see them in person, hug them. Everything else can wait.
If you read all this, thanks for sticking around and listening (or I guess reading?) to my story. It was really hard for me to write. My daughter interrupting me helped me work through it.
Hope you're doing okay, and I'll see you in the next one which will hopefully not be as sad.
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