Missing Dad: Three Years Later

July 24th marks three years since my dad died, but the wound still feels fresh. It is compounded by the fact that my mom died six months and a day before my dad. Losing both parents in such a short period was devastating because they were the only people who knew me from the beginning of my life. They were my foundation, teaching me by the way they lived their lives, how to be a caring and compassionate person in the world.

One of the difficult things to deal with when your parents are old is the platitudes that people say to make you feel better: they had a good, long life, they’re finally at peace, they wouldn’t want you to be sad, etc. Knowing that death is part of living does not make it easier when it happens to the one you love, regardless of their age. Your grief isn’t shorter or easier because of their longevity. Wanting them to be at peace does not equate to wanting them to be gone. The nicest thing that was said to me was from a fifth-grade student who asked about the photo of my parents on my computer’s home screen. When I told him they were dead, he said, “You were lucky to have them for such a long time.” These words touched my heart, coming from such a young child.

I was fortunate to have a close and supportive relationship with my dad. I knew that I could count on him in good and bad times. I suffered from depression when I went away to college, and he came and brought me back home. He drove the moving truck with all our belongings when my husband, kids, and I moved from New York to Arizona. When my husband died suddenly, he arrived the same day with my mom, flying from Florida to Phoenix. Dad walked with me through all the paperwork that was involved in death, took care of cleaning the garage and laundry, and continued to support me with frequent phone calls. One of the many overwhelming parts of being a widow is losing that partner to discuss ideas and problems with. I knew that dad would always be there with his wisdom and experience. Even if I knew what I wanted to do, it was nice to have him to talk to

Becoming a widow was different than having my parents die. Mike was my partner and was with me every day. We split the work that needed to be done around the house, shared inside jokes, and we had experiences that belonged just to us. Like any married couple, we had our tough times as well. However, I felt his absence in every part of my being. Living across the country from my parents since 2001, I was used to hearing from them but only seeing them once a year. After their deaths, there was part of me that could think that they were just across the country, a phone call away. But reality would continually hit, especially after dad died, because the estate had to be settled. I didn’t have any involvement because I wasn’t an executor, but every time I received any correspondence, I felt like I’d been sucker punched, and the grief would overflow again. I was glad when the estate was finally settled, just so I didn’t have to deal with the constant letters stating dad was dead. When my mom died, everything went to my dad, so it was a different experience.

Everyone has a unique relationship with their parents, which also applies to how they grieve them. I miss the phone calls the most. I loved it when mom would repeat how proud she was of me, and that I reinvented myself when I could just have given up. Or the calls from dad, listening to the stories he had told me so many times. He would say stop me if I already told you this. I never would, especially after mom died. I knew our time was precious, with no promise of how long it would last. I’m grateful that I had the gift of my parents for 61 years.

Visit my Grief Resources page for sources that I have found helpful.