A year ago today my father passed away, about two weeks short of his 92nd birthday. It still seems surreal in the sense that it can’t be real, it can’t have happened. And yet it did.
I don’t feel as if I’ve grieved. You know what I mean, the kind of grieving that lets it all out, a catharsis, a closing…or perhaps a new beginning. I haven’t done that.
I’m not sure why. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been living so far away from my parents for so long, far enough to make visits a planned event. At least one visit a year usually occurred over the 4th of July holiday or Thanksgiving, depending on my travel schedule. After leaving my job to become a full time writer I had a bit more flexibility and visited more often, but still only two or three or maybe four times in any given year. Which means my time with Dad and Mom was sporadic, but special.
So maybe I’m finding it hard to acknowledge his absence because I didn’t see him that often. Perhaps if I had lived closer and saw him every day or every week or every month I would have felt the overwhelming loss necessary to reach closure. If closure is even a thing. Maybe it isn’t.
I miss him.
Because of COVID-19 I haven’t been able to travel anywhere this year at all, which means I haven’t even been able to see my mother since last Thanksgiving. The annual 4th of July parade that brings a hundred family and friends back to my mother’s hometown isn’t happening this year as COVID has pretty much ended social gatherings. I’m also concerned about “bringing the virus” to my Mom. But my tentative plan is to drive up after the holiday anyway.
Recently my brother and sister-in-law moved back to the area, which gives my mother some nearby family for comfort and logistical support. My other brother lives with her so there is a level of assistance close by. Other family also live in the area and my mother has friends she meets, although on a more limited basis given social distancing requirements. Everyone gets by.
My default mentality seems to be that Dad is still around, that he’s merely far away and I’ll see him again when next I visit. Then I’ll read something in a book, or hear a song on the radio, or a random memory pops into my head and I realize he is, in fact, gone. This past Sunday was Father’s Day and one of those “Dad Songs” on the country music station set me off a bit. Not over the edge, but closer to it. I feel like there is a time-bomb waiting to blow, a sudden explosion of emotion that rids my soul of grief. But it doesn’t happen. I don’t know if it ever will. Will the sense of loss end, or will it be one of those long fuses you see in movies that seems to burn forever, foreshadowing a cataclysmic release that never seems to occur.
I know the answer from an intellectual perspective, of course, but psychologically it seems as if a recurring nightmare refuses to give me peace of mind. And yet the random memories are not all sorrow and sadness. Many of these sudden thoughts reflect the good times we had and the inspiration I found in his presence and his life. I like those thoughts.
So thanks, Dad, for being you and being there. I’ll miss you always.
David J. Kent is a science traveler and the author of Lincoln: The Man Who Saved America, in Barnes and Noble stores now. His previous books include Tesla: The Wizard of Electricity (2013) and Edison: The Inventor of the Modern World (2016) and two e-books: Nikola Tesla: Renewable Energy Ahead of Its Time and Abraham Lincoln and Nikola Tesla: Connected by Fate.
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Relax... said:
(((I’m sorry))) and I can’t believe it’s been a year already. For me, it’s been 25 years. I don’t know if closure is ever the right word. It just seemed a terrible wound, and now, more like a scar of a gash whose edges don’t really meet. They take something of us with them. I don’t see how it can be any other way. ❤ Stay well.
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davidjkentwriter said:
Thank you for your thoughts. I know I’ve been lucky to have him for so long.
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ru.smiln said:
A nice tribute. I miss him too.
For me, this sense of loss still hasn’t ended, 14 years later. I don’t think it ever will. But good memories do overcome the sadness, more so as time goes by.
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davidjkentwriter said:
Thanks, dear. I’m happy I had him all this time.
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Ann said:
Grief doesn’t ever really end, but it changes. The edges soften, and we find at a certain point that the good memories make us smile, and they don’t hurt as much as they once did. And despite Kübler-Ross, there may be stages of grief, but they’re very individual, and may not occur for some at all. Enjoy all those wonderful memories of your Dad!
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davidjkentwriter said:
Thank you, Ann.
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Lightness Traveling said:
It becomes a new measure of time. I wish you intervals always marked by good memories.
Looking back at that post, I realize that I had just returned from my second trip to Japan after my mom died. I tend to skip the denial, anger, and bargaining parts… too inefficient. The sadness and grief though, depends upon what was lost. With my mom, it was connection to this place… hence the travel. The grief was something subtle and intellectual. I think only one person who read what I wrote about it here even knew what I was talking about.
But my dad… that was different. I carried the void for years, buried under a mountain of change and responsibility. I don’t even recall what finally triggered the transition, but it terrified my husband who had no idea what he was seeing while I just let it all go.
At least, a good friend had warned me to expect it.
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davidjkentwriter said:
Thanks for this. It’s always good to have some perspective. I am lucky to have had my Dad for so long…and still have my Mom. Hoping over time I’ll focus more on the life and not the loss.
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Chris Brockman said:
I find myself comparing myself comparing myself agewise more and more with my father who passed away five years ago at 91. I has helped me to know him as well as myself by thinking what he was like at my same age. It helps me anticipate what getting older will be like. That part I’m not sure I like, but it helps me, I think, to prepare and maybe avoid some of the issues he faced. That’s in addition, of course, to missing him.
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davidjkentwriter said:
That’s an interesting perspective. I’ll try doing that. Thanks, Chris.
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