Eight years ago today, my dad passed away from pancreatic cancer. He was an incredible, fascinating person, and I miss him very much. So much has happened in these eight years…enough for a lifetime, in my opinion. I’m still sorting out my thoughts on the whole religion deal, but I still like to believe he’s somehow able to see me now. I’ve struggled a lot through these eight years, and I’ve nearly lost my own life more times than I’d like to count. I feel like it has taken so much to get to where I am today, even if that isn’t a perfect place. I’m doing better than I ever have…and I just want my dad to know that. I want him to see that I am working hard, doing my best, and ready to make him proud.
I wish he could meet my friends, meet my boyfriend, and see my apartment. I wish I could talk to him, have a conversation about pretty much anything (he seemed to always have an answer for every question I asked). My dad was probably the smartest person I’ve ever met. He was born in 1939, so he lived through so much. I never got the chance to ask him about it. That plagues me every time I think about him, or think about it.
My dad always had perspective. He knew what was important, and he encouraged me to make up my own mind. But I always thought he was right about everything. I can’t explain to you the wisdom I found through him. It was profound.
My dad was a people-watcher. He observed, and picked up on a lot of things that people miss every day. Sometimes the important things.
He read books, loved cats, and was a more quiet person…all traits I inherited from him. Like my dad, I prefer to be an observer.
He loved us in his own way. It’s hard to think about, but I rarely told my dad I loved him. It just wasn’t something that was always said. I think it was more implied. But I loved my dad. I still love my dad. I want him to know that no matter what, he will always be my number one guy.
I was about to say I had a good cry last night, but it wasn’t really that great. By that I mean it wasn’t pleasant and it didn’t soothe my soul. It was more of a panic attack sort of sobbing, which left me feeling lonely, broken and exhausted. If only crying made me feel better…
Nothing really makes it feel better. That’s what I try to explain to people who haven’t lost someone they really love. Nothing anyone says, does, etc. will make you feel resolve about it. The fact is, I lost my dad, that hurts me a lot, and I’m still angry that cancer stole such a beautiful soul.
That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate when my friends/family tries to comfort me. I do. It just doesn’t lessen the pain of not having a dad.
I’ve spent a lot of these eight years wishing I could die early too, so that I wouldn’t have to deal with losing anyone like that again. Coping with death is hard, to say the least, and I don’t even know today if I could handle it again. Hopefully I can, because otherwise, where will that leave me?
My biggest fear is losing my loved ones. I wish it was heights, or bugs, or something that doesn’t inevitably happen repeatedly through your life.
I can never prepare myself for losing loved ones. A lot of it is because of the regrets. I didn’t anticipate how many regrets I would have with my dad.
Anyway, if my dad can see me, or hear me, or anything…I hope he’s proud.
-December 4, 2016