Growing Pains

Jay here!

Today, I would like to talk about growing up without a dad. I’ve talked about experiences immediately after his death, but that’s not what defines my grief. I was so checked out that I feel as though I hardly remember his illness. Honestly, other than being a huge germophobe and hating hospitals, I feel like my dad’s actual illness didn’t negatively affect me too badly long-term. Yes, I have horrifying, painful memories from it. I remember walking into the hospital room to see a tube in my dad’s nose, pulling fecal matter out of my dad’s stomach and into a cup. I remember watching his transformation into a sick man instead of the dad I knew. I remember following my dad inside our house and then screaming as I watched him fall down and hit the wall in our hallway because his body was so weak. I remember all of those things and more, and I will carry these horrifying memories with me for the rest of my life. But I’ve never been plagued by nightmares, and I don’t instantly remember these things when we drive by a hospital or stand in our hallway. I only really remember these things if I’m thinking about his cancer, and that’s usually only sparked by seeing someone bald, skinny or yellow, or all of the above.

The real grief comes in for me when I least expect it. Anytime I hit a major milestone of growing up, even though I should be happy, it feels empty. I wrote about the time I started crying in my professor’s office after I took my first college midterm in How We Survive Griefy Days and Grief Storms. I was crying because I knew my dad was proud of me; he would have given me the biggest hug, but he wasn’t to do it. I was attacked by my grief on my thirteenth birthday, not only because it was my first birthday without him here, but because it was a reminder that my dad never lived to see me even reach my teenage years. On my sixteenth birthday, I didn’t want a big celebration because my dad wasn’t here to celebrate with us. It felt more like a reminder that he’s really gone. He was supposed to be the one to teach me to drive, and that’s never going to happen because he’s dead.

The reality of his death and my grief only really affect me on milestone days that are supposed to be a celebration. I don’t know if other kids grieving the loss of a parent feel this way, but I fear the happiest days of my life will forever be the saddest because I’ll know my dad isn’t here with me. I dreaded my sixteenth birthday for this reason, I dread my eighteenth birthday and high school graduation for this reason… I know that whatever happens, however joyful, will forever be tainted by his absence. I can handle the ordinary days and I can handle the little things, but I fear that my grief will lead me to not want to celebrate the major milestones and accomplishments in my future.

I hear people say, “Oh, well you just can’t think like that” when I miss my dad on these big occasions. But usually these are the people whose parents are still alive. Both their parents got to see them become an adult and graduate and get married and have kids. Both their parents were there for them throughout their teen years, embarrassed them in front of their friends and intimidated whoever they were dating. I’m never going to have that, so excuse me if I cry when I graduate because it just feels so empty without my dad here to smile and say he’s proud of the woman I’m becoming.

Not only do the celebratory days sting with grief, but moments when there’s an unexpected obstacle, regardless of severity, are only made worse by his absence. When my mom got sick with a cold or something, my dad would usually help her and then we’d do something fun together while she recovered. I was stripped of that at age twelve. Now when my mom gets sick, I’m the one who sets alarms for her medication and reminds her to drink water. I’m mature and demand she let me help since I know she’s positively miserable with just a cold, and honestly I’m happy to do it, but it’s still a reminder that my dad isn’t here to help. Really, whenever anything goes wrong, it is a reminder that my dad isn’t here to help. He is not here to offer fatherly advice on anything, no matter how pressing the issue. I guess we feel entitled to having our parents be here for us through everything as we age, and that makes it really when one of them isn’t available.

So to anyone who’s new to grieving, although grief is different for everyone, this is my summary of my experience so far:

• The dazed, numb feeling will go away eventually.
• The annoying ache in your heart will always be there, but you get used to it.
• You’ll do fine one minute, and then something will come along and remind you that they’re dead and make you miss their voice or their smile or their hug.
• Any sort of holiday or celebration will always feel like they’re missing the presence of your loved one, but that starts to dilute into your new memories and traditions as you make them.

I don’t know how long all of this lasts because I’m only six years out. I hope every joyous occasion won’t always carry an emptiness to it, but I don’t know. I suppose we can’t live in fear of our grief though; we can only respect the ways it has challenged us to grow and try to carry on with our new lives to the best of our abilities.

Aloha and gratitude,

Jay and Shell