Loosing a parent sucks. There’s no better way to say it.
It especially sucks when your still trying to figure out who are and you lose a parent. You loose the person that is supposed to help you figure that out.
He’s not here to give me advice. unsolicited or not. I actually miss the advice that I never wanted in the first place. I want the negative and the positive. I have to miss out on the dinners. the coffee talk. the trips. the laughter. the tears. the “you know you did something wrong” look. I want that look. I want the chance to disappoint him and make him proud.
When I lost my dad nine years ago, I didn’t have the tools to healthily process what had happened. I turned to school, work, and alcohol. I turned inward and closed off my emotions from the world.
Today I have the tools to deal process the death of a parent. To feel my feelings. To speak up about the pain, feel it, and let it pass. I have gone deep into the intense sadness that I felt from loosing my hero. I have let it overtake me in the healing hands of those who cared and knew how to guide me back to the surface of the deep waters. I have made considerable progress in my grief. Processing all that I shoved down for so long. And I can healthily say today…
that it still just sucks.
The sting has left. The overwhelming sadness has dissipated, but it still just sucks.
I don’t get to partake in father-daughter activities, learn about his past, have him chide me for getting tattoos (he grounded me for pen ink), have him give my dates the third degree because no one is good enough for his daughter, have him take me on anymore adoptive dinner dates (which he did for years, so that I would fully understand what it meant to be his daughter), have him give me advice about what career path I should take, have him count all the B’s I made in school and say that he knows I can do better, have him tell me how proud he is of the strong woman I’ve become, and all the other things I can’t predict because he’s not here to grow old with me.
These words are not written to have people pity me or feel sympathy or offer advice. This pain is written for all those who have lost their parents during a time when they really needed them. To show them that it’s okay to hurt openly. To be sad that you have to miss out on things that you see others experiencing. And it’s okay to voice them. Voice them loud.
For years I suppressed my feelings, my true feelings, my thoughts. All it led to was depressive isolation.
Someone out there knows what your feeling. Someone is there to help. Someone will listen and ONLY listen. You can heal. You will heal.
And eventually it will just kinda suck.