September 13th. · 4:00am Sep 13th, 2019
It's been a full year since my dad passed away.
Life continues. My son is a year older and even visited Mexico again to hang out with his grandma and his family, I still have a job, I went to Bronycon…
It's funny. I know people that have suffered loss at different stages of life—my grandad on my dad's side died when he (my dad) was 11, for example—and for some it's a trauma they don't get over ever. It's a loss that shakes them to the very core of their beings and creates a sort of codependency between their rational selves, and their inner, fearful child. They don't get over it. This very real, very debilitating absence rules their lives for decades, if not for their whole lives.
My dad wasn't like that. Even though he lost his father at a young age, and even with how painful it was, he moved on. And I… did too. I think the hardest thing for me to admit and deal with was that it was okay to not be in pain. To not break down into tears when the thought of him comes by and I feel his absence.
Some people find solitude in religion, and that's fine. That's not me though. Much like Twilight in my old story, "The Pain of Eternity", I don't remember him by his loss, but by his life. I remember his laughter, the times he did something accidentally ridiculous. The times he took me fishing, or even the times he got angry with me.
I can still see him at my sister's wedding. I can see him in his PJs in the old model car the neighbor had that one time. I can see him sitting with me and his distant family in Tampico, crickets, scorpions, cowboy hats and a whole lot of livestock around.
I got into an argument about my lassoing technique with him that night, btw. Bet you didn't know that at one point in life, I could lasso and tie a calf.
When I arrived in Mexico after a desperate effort to find a flight, I rushed to the hospital and managed to tell him how much I loved him and how much he had done for me. That I would strive to be someone he'd be proud of. That I was okay. That he had brought me happiness and even if I wasn't up to par yet, he was still someone to look up to. I got really lucky in that I could say all of that, just in the nick of time.
To me, after the fact, the problem was with how I missed him… but I wasn't sad. I felt like I had to be, you know? Not because his life had been cut short—he accomplished a lot, and saw both my sister and I through college, as well as met his grandsons and granddaughter, and got to spend quality time with them. But rather because I felt like it was somehow… wrong to not be utterly devastated.
Of course, there's nothing wrong with that. I was emotionally mature enough in that respect that whether I consciously understood it or not, my understanding of the value of his life completely did away with the loss of it. I know I was lucky too, in that I got to say goodbye and close that circle, something that others never get the chance to do.
It took a couple of months, but with the help of some friends and despite the attempts to sabotage me from not-friends, I was able to fully move on.
So this blog is not about looking back with regret at his loss, but simply a reminder that we move on. That people's lives and legacy should always be about joy, example and life. I remember my dad today, but I don't feel sad. I'm grateful for everything he did, the good and the bad, that made me who I am today.
That's how I honor his memory. And because of that, I totally projected myself into best horse-girl and sort of caricatured one of the most toxic people I've had the misfortune of meeting. Obviously their mentality is not as simple as that, but the basic, boiled down philosophy is there. Oh, and it's a sequel to "The Pain of Eternity".
Heart goes out to you. Only close family I've lost so far in my 25 years on this Earth was my grandfather on my mother's side when I was 13. Life just goes on, and we stay here to keep their memory alive.
Those are some damn fine PJs. He looks like a man I'd have loved to share a drink with. Life moves forward, and I'm glad to see you're keeping abreast.
I'm sorry for your loss, D but it is well that you have so many fond and wonderful memories of your fathers time with you and your family. A life well lived and shared is a life well remembered.
Thanks for talking about it. Not to be self centered, but it helps me deal with the passing of my mom. I felt a bit the same way, but I know she wouldn't want me to be a sad-sack forever. Everyone who's lost someone like that should know that being happy in life is the best way to honor those who love us. I still miss her, but, for the most part, I'm at piece with things.
You're father was straight pimp'n in that getup with that car. Man be style'n for days.
Papa Wanderer in PJ's is classier than me in a suit! I'm certain he'd be proud of the father you've become. Not sure if you're going to be able to rock the PJ n' Swag look as smooth as he did, but he set the bar pretty high.
To those we lost and our memories of them
So interesting to read this blog. It's a pity I wasn't around when you ran into 'Honey Stead'…
My sponsor (in a 12 steppy thing) says when his Mom died, that was the first time he really felt safe in his entire life. (there was a bit of a dark past there, shall we say). I can't go as far as THAT, but I can say that for all that my Mom and Dad were in my life, for all that I went to a lot of effort to stay connected and to drive down to Pennsylvania and visit them in their final years… and like my sponsor, my Mom had turned around in the last 20+ years of her life and we shared a bond that nobody else in the family really had, and I talked with her every Sunday though she never could work out just why…
And with all that, when they both went, all that happened was the sun the next morning seemed just a little bit brighter, and I felt just a little bit less 'judged and found wanting'.
I'd done a lot of work, you see. Laid demons to rest. There was no need to rejoice… or be all that relieved. Something had concluded, that's all.
Something was also unlocked. I'm still working out what freedom feels like. You see, nobody had intended any harm… much… but it's a cycle of abuse that ran down both family lines for generations, and both my parents made great strides at not being as bad as THEIR parents… much. And we move on.
'Honey Stead' types have always baffled me: rather than feeling pressured by their expectations, I'm left just confused and dismayed. I can't imagine feeling that supported and comforted by anybody, ever, and it strikes me as weird. Your take on the situation, on the other hand, seems perfectly natural. I'm not sure what that says about you that someone like me considers you well-adjusted. Guess it depends on whether I turned out to be a terribly Bad Pony
*Pats on back*
If I could give you a hug, or at least a handshake and pat on the back, I would. Or at least buy you your favorite drink.
a good mindset there... remembering his life...