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| Dad and me |
Twelve years ago, my dad died suddenly of a massive heart attack at age 56 in a grocery store on a Saturday morning. His was the first funeral I'd ever attended. I knew he would die before I would, but I didn't
know. His death was a tremendous blow to our family. Our identity seemed to be compromised. Our back-up was gone. He was the mountain, the foundation. We were left to ourselves, vulnerable and unprotected, and everything changed. Our family dynamics shifted and slipped, grief overshadowed personalities, we all had new roles to fill. The adjustments took several years.
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But, something early on helped me through that grief. A few months after his death, I realized that for some reason, I had expected him to live into his 70's, but no longer. My perspective changed. I would grieve the loss of about 15 years. Being the oldest of six and at age 30, I'd had him longer than any of my siblings, but I couldn't expect to have him the rest of my life. These adjustments would have come sooner or later. I'm not one to procrastinate. I'd rather get the awful overwith. In this case, I would have put his death off as long as possible, but straining for perspective, I could appreciate the fact that his death and those ramifications would be an inevitable part of my life.
What helped me significantly with my dad's death is one of the roadblocks in my grief for our 4-year-old. It was realistic to expect her to be with me for the rest of my life, maybe 50 years. Perhaps the fact that she is the baby of the family and a girl would have made her role throughout my lifetime even larger. Mourning 50 years of loss is overwhelming. It's longer than my entire life so far. Those 50 years will look very different than they would have. How can I think they will be better? Impossible. Better than having the daughter I love more than my own life? It's ironic that in some ways knowing she is a Celestial person makes my regret deeper that she can't stay here. She wouldn't have been trouble. She would have been her awesome self. And now, without her, I'm diminished. My future is diminished.
When I get past the next 50 years, my future promises more joy than I can comprehend, and I trust in that. But 50 years is a formidable length of mortality. I can try to live a day at a time, but it feels like denial.
I can always hope for the Second Coming. Maybe I'll only be 56 when He comes again.
2 comments:
Lorenne!! I HAVE to have all the awesome pictures you have of Dad! I only have 3 pictures of him - one of which Izzie decided to decorate (obliterate) with ink (my baptism day w me and Dad). I would love it if you could burn high res copies of those pics on a disc for me - or if you would send me those pics, I can do that and send them back to you.
Dad was my hero. I wanted to be just like him. He was so fun and smart and compassionate and witty and he was the best Dad ever. You are also my hero. I have always, always, since I was 18 said "when I grow up, I want to be just like Lorenne" I still think that, nearly every day. You are such a tremendous example - and friend - more than I could've even imagined.
Even though I am now a grown up - I still want to be just like you... when I grow up. I'm really trying hard:)
XOXO
Your dad is a handsome dude!
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