10 Lessons I Learned After My Dad Died
When my dad died at the end of 2020, although somewhat expected, it shifted almost every of part of me. The shock, the heartbreak, the sorrow - but what felt most profound was the split in time. There was now a divide in my life - a before and an after.
Through this first year, I’ve come to learn … or maybe I should say re-learn? or realize? ... quite a few things and I want to share my lessons (in no particular order) with you. I guess these ideas hit differently now that I’m someone who has to say “my dad was…” or “he liked…” Death just hits differently and can cause a huge shift in perspective.
This year has been a whirlwind, the grief has been thick but there has also been such beautiful joy and unbounded happiness along with it.
I’m hopeful a few of these notions will resonate with you. I’m hopeful you’ll take the time to discover your own list of lessons and I’m always hopeful that Frankie’s overarching lesson - to accept the good - sticks with you. Even on the hardest days.
It’s important to feel all the different emotions - really “feel my feelings.”
I’m not a huge believer in cliche sayings. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good printed quote, but I think we can all agree that “live laugh love” has run it’s course, eh? During the first few days after my dad died, I was completely numb. I continued to parent, do the laundry, and unload the dishwasher, but it was all routine and robotic. As time passed and the days turned to weeks and then eventually in to months, the feelings became apparent. And as much as I didn’t want to “waste” my days being upset, I completely and utterly succumbed to whatever feeling presented itself. The more you suppress, the longer it takes to heal. Remember that. Feel it all, let it move through you and then let it go.
It feels better to talk about him.
People don’t know what to say. I get it. But trust me when I tell you that everyone wants to talk about their person. Don’t be afraid to ask questions and have an open dialogue about the person who is gone. Asking questions can often times make the griever feel excited to talk about the person they lost. I absolutely LOVE talking about Frankie and I know Maria enjoys talking about her mama too! We see it all the time during the podcast recordings - people WANT to tell you about their loved one. It’s therapeutic and can bring up such happy memories.
I am strong.
I never thought of myself as the most sturdy tool in the shed. I run on emotion and feelings and that can be tricky (honestly, thank god for my husband - he is definitely a rational left brain and truthfully makes our family run). But after walking alongside my dad as he battled dementia, I realized I can do the things I never thought I could. I never thought I could watch someone die. I never thought I could talk to my babies about my dad transitioning to the place beyond. I never thought I could be a caregiver. But, even through a little self preservation break, I stuck by my dad and advocated for him. I loved on him, I leaned in to the uncomfortable moments of silence. It wasn’t easy. I did it for him and I did it for me. I am strong and I know he would be proud of me.
Soak in the small things.
As we approach the year memorial, I’m finding things to be slowing down a little. And I think thats partially my doing. I am really taking the time to be present and mindful in each moment… at least for now. Life moves quickly and if you don’t take an active role in slowing it down and soaking it in, it’ll pass you by. When you take it moment by moment, it’s easier to allow the goodness in. Nothing lasts forever, you guys - enjoy the small things.
Grief is delicate and complicated
I never experienced this type of sadness. I’ve lost grandparents, friends, pets; I’ve been heartbroken over relationships that ended and jobs that didn’t work out … but this type of sorrow is different. It’s fragile. It’s rare. Because my dad was sick for so long, I faced anticipatory grief as well … both sides of the coin are depleting. Grief is hard and it’s messy and it will ebb and flow. All of that is ok. Grief is also a very sacred experience, it means you love hard. Be gentle with yourself and be gentle with fellow grievers. There is no manual to make this darkness go away.
No one will EVER love me like he did.
I am so greatly and completely aware that my dad loved me. I was the apple of his eye and he let me know as often as he could. Even through
his disease and when he lost the ability to physically tell me, I could feel it. And that love between the two of us is irreplaceable. I find comfort in it now and I am so happy that its remained rooted in my soul. The bond connecting us shifted throughout the years, but that sweet love always endured. And you know what… I can still feel it.
Grief began at diagnosis
Learning my dad had a terminal disease, especially after years of confusion, change, and odd behaviors was definitely bittersweet. I was happy that he wasn’t choosing to be so different. On the contrary, though – the terminal part really was a gut punch. We had our answer but we also had a death sentence. And the grief, albeit anticipatory, started then. And I slowly lost him… piece by piece.
No matter how old I get, I will always want my Dad
I was always a daddy’s girl. His life was cut short and I will forever have an ache for him.
I’m Lucky
Through watching someone you love die, I think you gain a different viewpoint. I learned things about myself, about love and about letting go. I learned to love outloud, I learned to appreciate the people who love me, and not worry about the people who don’t. I learned lessons about life, death, and what I want to pass on to my babies. I learned how to pick myself up and how to move forward. And through all of that, I learned that I’m lucky. I’m lucky to have experienced such a love and such a bond with a parent. Not everyone gets that.
