When someone you love dies, it is acceptable to be sad, to be angry, to go through the stages of grief. Losing a parent is said to be devastating, especially at a young age. At the age of 22, a mere five days before my 23rd birthday, I learned that my Dad passed away. When I announced the death of my father on Facebook, I was overwhelmed by the amount of texts I recieved, the kind words written on my Facebook page, and the phone conversations I had. Everyone was being incredibly kind to me, and while I was touched by the words that were said, I felt like I didn’t deserve the condolences. The post I had written on Facebook asked for friends to send good vibes and prayers towards my siblings and my step-mom. I did not ask for condolences to be sent my way.
My Dad hadn’t really been my Dad. Biologically, he was my father, but I didn’t really know anything particular about him, nor him I. My parents divorced before I was even in kindergarten, and he moved to Amarillo when I was pretty young. My brother and my sister were both incredibly older than me, so I didn’t really have a branch there, either. I heard from my Dad on birthdays and Christmas, and I talked to him on his birthday and Father’s Day. I didn’t feel abandoned. I was too young to know what being abandoned felt like. My step-dad moved in with us when I was in second grade, so it wasn’t like I grew up without a father.
I remember my Grandma died, and then again when my Papa was dying. I didn’t have any fond memories of that trip, mostly because my favorite person in the world had passed away, and I wasn’t interested in rekindling a relationship with my Dad. I didn’t see my father again until I graduated from high school, about five years later. It was a little awkward doing things with him, but I was glad he had made it. His trip was a short one, and just as quickly as he arrived, he was gone. As college came and went, I talked to my Dad less and less. When it came time to walk the stage, I invited my Dad and step-mom to my graduation, and recieved a short letter explaining that due to health problems, they wouldn’t be able to attend.
I came to find out, about two months later, that those health problems involved my Dad having final stages of cancer. I talked to him on the phone a few times, once a week, and then more often towards what would inevitably be the end of his life. We talked about normal things at first: I told him how I was working on two books, and that I was looking for a job. He listened, inserting appropriate responses where they were required. During one of our phone conversations, he told me that he had lot to tell me, that he had a lot to say, but that he was feeling weak and would tell me later. Later never came. His sentences started not making sense, and I knew the end was near. I didn’t go visit him in the hospital, I thought I would have my closure at his funeral. If I knew how things were going to turn out, I would have got into my car after our first conversation and drove the six hours to Amarillo.
I found out my father died over a text message from my brother. At 1:08 in the afternoon a text came through informing me that my Dad had passed away. A mass text, it looked like to me. I was driving, I remember. I kind of blacked out, I think, because the next thing I remember was laying in my bed sobbing uncontrollably. I was so mad at my brother for texting me this news. No person should ever find that their parent has passed away over a text message. My mom chalked it up to my brother not knowing how to act, to being devastated by the loss of his father. I understood, she was probably right, and I moved away from that sore subject. As I waited four days to hear anymore news of my fathers arrangements, I became paranoid. I thought that my Dad’s funeral might have happened without me. I text my brother and he wrote back and informed me that my father had already been cremated, and that a funeral wouldn’t happen until my step-mom passed away. Baffled, I didn’t know what to do or say. Any closure I thought I might have had was gone. I would never see my father again, he was already ash. I would not get to mourn properly, for a funeral wasn’t happening.
It’s been a month since my father passed away, and I find my dreams haunted with his memory. The thing is, he is sweet and caring in my dreams. He is considerate, and thoughtful, and full of laughter, just as people described him in his death. My mom told me that’s how he was with me when I was a baby, that he was the best father. I don’t know how to mourn. I don’t feel like I deserve to be upset. Yet, I find myself crying on my way to work. in the shower, randomly when I’m walking to my car. How do you mourn someone like that? Someone who wasn’t there, yet always present? He lives in me, but he is gone. He told me loved me, and talked about how proud he was of me. I’m glad he told me those things, but I can’t help but think back on what he didn’t say. It hits me like a brick wall, at odd times, that my father is gone. I need to mourn. I need to move on from this. That relationship is over, and I’ll never have another opportunity to wrap things up with a pretty bow. Someone, anyone, please tell me how to mourn.
Single & Unemployed: Life of a College Grad 