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You think you know how you’ll feel, but you don’t.  When someone close to you dies, sometimes you react differently than expected.  When my father passed last Sunday, I was ready to feel one way.  But surprisingly, five unexpected emotions tugged at me. 

Happiness for him – My 82 year-old father was released from an existence that no longer worked. Late-stage Parkinson’s Disease had robbed him, leaving his body immobile and frozen, paralyzed.  He couldn’t talk.  He couldn’t swallow. He couldn’t do the smallest task. I saw constant sadness and frustration in his eyes.

Watching him die was like waving goodbye to a loved one at the airport.  You don’t want them to leave.  You want them to stay.  And yet you know they must return home.  They must take that journey. 

Relief for my mother – She worked ceaselessly the past three years, every day, giving my Dad a good life.  She kept him out of the nursing home.  She kept him as comfortable as she could.  She oversaw constant, round-the-clock care.  She had much-needed aides and helpers come into her home all day, every day.  Parkinson’s Disease robbed her as well.

Now she can re-focus on her own life without regrets.  She did her best. And yet my mother’s emotional journey has just begun.  She’ll grieve the man she spent the last 60 years with.  She’ll miss her beloved husband.  My mother has many adjustments ahead.  But she’s found a new strength she never knew she had.

I believe she’ll be okay, but I’ll be watching.  

Contentment – Strangely, the image I have now of my father is smiling and happy, almost exhilarated, like when I was a kid and we tobogganed down winter hills.  I picture him zooming around the universe, free of his body, giving hugs and kisses to my Swedish grandparents, greeting friends who’ve passed and even petting a beloved dog or two.

I picture my father relieved he made it to the other side.  He was both awed and frightened of death like us all.  And yet he made that crossing, having arrived at the most exotic of destinations.  I can’t help wonder, what’s it like, Dad?  Can you hear me?

I listen, but of course, there’s only silence.

I don’t fully feel it yet – I know people who lost their Dads decades ago and still can’t talk about it.  I’ve realized these past few days it’s going to take a long while to process my father’s passing.  Pinpricks of this new reality break in from time to time.

I’ll catch myself wondering if he and Mom saw that television show last night.  Is he enjoying the sight of this sunny morning from his bedroom window?  The other day I went to wish him “Happy Birthday” when I had to stop myself. Dad almost made it to 83, days shy.

Full grief bides its time – The day’s coming when the weight of never seeing my father again will hit me.  It’ll come on holidays like Thanksgiving where I spent 58 turkey days with this man.

It’ll come when I see a father teaching his children to swim or proudly walking a daughter down the aisle. It’ll come when I see a grandfather holding a new baby or anything Swedish or a man relishing a bite of blueberry pie or wearing a blue Yankees cap.

I’ll think of my Dad when I cross the Sagamore Bridge onto Cape Cod, where my parents met sixty years ago, where there’s so many family memories.  The grief will come.

But for now I feel mostly gratitude.  I had the gift of a wonderful father, something not everything can claim.

He passed.

And thank God, he’s finally free.

 

Have you lost a loved one?  How did you cope? Comments are always welcome and if you like, please share.  Thank you.

Comments(42)

  1. Very moving, Laurie. <3

  2. Thanks so much, Karen.

  3. Lovely words for your Dad. You are always able to look at the positive side of things. I think this will help you get through the heavier side of the grief. I'm here if you want to talk.

  4. Thanks so much, Lois. I'd love to get together soon.

    • Anonymous

    • 9 years ago

    Very beautiful. I am so sorry for your loss. I lost my father in April 2000. I still miss him very much. They are perhaps what define us most–our profound losses and how we live on. I am not really like my father, and yet I feel his influence on my whole outlook every day, especially in certain situations. He was extraordinarily talented–multi-talented. A public servant in his careers, he was also very sensitive and private. Anyway, I miss him. Take care of yourself. Your grief will change, but you are right–it will abide. I think sometimes we do not realize how greatly we are loved by someone until that person is gone. My father taught me how to live and how to love. I had a pretty unbelievable father.

  5. Wow, thanks for these words. You're right. We can't really feel the force of someone's love till they're gone. But thankfully that lives on. Thanks so much for reading.

  6. I remember the happiness for him bit. It's true, isn't it? No one should have to endure a life that's not really a life for long, should they? Watching my parents pass made me think long and hard about a long life. I only want it if it's a real one. If it's full of sickness and hardship at the end, I'll be happy to exit early . . .

  7. So true. I had both my grandmothers live till their mid-90's and both were ready to go. I agree its possible to live too long, especially with the medical profession fighting off death. Sometimes drifting off is the most merciful solution.

  8. What a beautiful tribute to your Dad and your grief. I'm sure you will feel much more and find many more words too. I wish you strength in your grieving.

  9. Thanks so much. I know it hasn't all hit yet. That's coming in the future. Thanks for reading.

  10. My dad died a couple of months ago and I have nothing to remember him fondly for. He was self absorbed and distant – so I envy you your memories and strangely I envy you for your grief because that’s a sign of a long, loving relationship. You were blessed to have him for your dad and I bet he’s smiling down on you from heaven x

      • Laurie Stone

      • 7 years ago

      Leanne, Thanks so much and I’m sorry the relationship with your Dad wasn’t better. Its a strange lottery that gets played out when we get our parents. I hope you made up for it with your Mom. Thanks so much for reading.

  11. What a loving eulogy of sorts to your Dad.Out of his misery from his disease is a blessing for him.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 7 years ago

      Haralee, He was so ready to go, there was no place but peace left. Even though I was relieved he was finally free, I see how grief seeps in slowly. Over a year later, I’m still having to face the fact I’ll never see him again. It always brings me up short. Thanks for reading.

  12. A touching tribute to what was obviously a special relationship with your dad. I hope that time has softened the hard edges of your grief somewhat.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 7 years ago

      Thank you, Roxanne. My Dad was the first big loss in my life so I didn’t know what to expect. I find I don’t think of him all the time like I did when he first passed, but when I do, the pain goes deeper. It becomes more real. Thanks so much for reading.

  13. My dad died in Sept 2015 and my mom in Feb 2015. I was a lot like you at first. I was relieved in a lot of ways and numb. It is only a year later that I am missing them both so much. I mean I missed them before, but I had spent an intense 7 months caring for both of them and was physically, emotionally and spiritually exhausted. I’m so sorry – I know you will miss him.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 7 years ago

      Cathy, I completely get it. My mother was exhausted as the caretaker and in some ways, she was released from that. But I know a year later, its sinking in more deeply. Her best friend is gone. I’m so sorry about the loss of both your parents. That must be so hard. I can’t imagine.

  14. I’m so sorry for your loss. My great-aunt had Parkinsons, and I watched my great-uncle put himself into the nursing home with her because he couldn’t care for her and he couldn’t bear to be away. It’s such a hard disease in the end that I understand your happiness for him because it is a final release.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 7 years ago

      Jenn, Wow, what an act of love. That could be a movie. What a sweet man your great-uncle was to do that. Parkinson’s is such a cruel disease. I’m sorry for your great aunt’s suffering. Thank you for reading.

  15. Oh, this is so, so perfect!
    I, too watched my Dad go home (was it really two years ago?!) recently. I was ecstatic for him. He had nursed my Swedish mother through the last stages of Parkinson’s as well and was terrified of becoming dependent. When he died of a heart attack, still taking care of his own needs, all I felt was gratitude and happiness. He got to go! He was with Mom! I still feel that. Oh, there are times when I miss him. Then I write about him.
    Maybe it helps that he was six hours away and I can still pretend he is there in his apartment if I just make the trip. But still, all I feel is joy!

      • Laurie Stone

      • 7 years ago

      Diane, Feeling joy is a wonderful way to grieve. If it was a good relationship, and it sounds like yours was, then what else is left to do? Wow, Parkinson’s disease and a Swedish parent? We have a lot in common!

  16. Lost my father to Alzheimer’s a year ago and yes, so many mixed emotions. The last time he saw me he didn’t know me, but he wasn’t unhappy either. I’m still sorting through my feelings.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 7 years ago

      Karen, Your Dad’s out of his suffering, but I’m sure you miss the man he was. I agree, feelings get very complex in these situations.

  17. Beautifully said. I lost my mother in 2013. I was so privileged to be with her when she took her last breath. I miss her, but she had dementia and yet told me and my brother, I HAVE TO GO. I hope there is an afterlife. I pray there is.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 7 years ago

      Beth, Thanks for your kind words. I hope there is an afterlife too, but who knows? I’m sorry about your Mom, but it sounds like she was ready to go. Like with my Dad, I found comfort in that.

  18. So interesting, lovely really. I too was surprised at the shape of my grief when my father passed. I think it’s important that we talk publicly about all the different ways grief can be experienced. Take care.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 7 years ago

      Lisa, Thanks so much. Yes, my father’s life had become impossible. Death was a release. I still miss him everyday, but at least he’s free.

  19. Almost 20 years later and sometimes that grief for my dad pops back in at unexpected times.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 5 years ago

      Jennifer, I’ve no doubt. Can’t believe my dad passed almost four years ago. It feels like yesterday.

  20. My father died in 2015 and there still is and will always be a big hole in my heart. It doesn’t get easier though. I miss him as much today as I did when he died. I thought I was prepared. I had tried to prepare myself for a life without him. It was much worse than I anticipated. But I feel him with me a lot. That gives me comfort.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 5 years ago

      Lauren, Wow, we lost our dads the same year. I find it gets harder in some ways. I was so numb when he passed that it took me a while to fully grasp it. As the years go by, it sinks deeper and deeper.

      1. I totally agree. I wasn’t ready for him to go yet and it hurts as much today as it did then. I still find myself starting to dial his cell phone number once in a while.

          • Laurie Stone

          • 4 years ago

          Lauren, So sorry for the loss of your dad. It sounds like he was loved. It still feels unreal that my father is gone, five years next summer. To not see a loved one as the years go by feels so sad.

  21. My Mother last year died with Alzheimer. She was not there for about a year. I remember her vibrant and smiling, smart and full of life and laughter, not as she was at the end.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 5 years ago

      Haralee, Alzheimer’s seem particularly cruel, robbing a person (and their family) of who that person was. As you said, you have your memories of when she was fully present and happy.

    • Laurie Stone

    • 5 years ago

    This is such a timely post for me. I lost my mother in January after years of dementia and finally metastatic breast cancer. I thought her passing would absolutely kill me but just the opposite was true. I was so relieved and happy for her because after all of these years her and my father are back together. I just knew that she was happy again. I actually wrote a piece this weekend while traveling about signs from above. I’ll be posting it soon.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 5 years ago

      Your mom really had a double hit. I felt the same way when my dad died, relieved that he was no longer in a body that had finished its journey. Still miss him a lot. So sorry for your loss, but thank goodness, your mom’s out of her suffering.

  22. I love this, Laurie! We were so blessed, you and I, to have fathers who loved us and launched us into the world with every loving fiber of their being. Does your dad play Cribbage? I expect my dad has cornered him for at least one game!

      • Laurie Stone

      • 4 years ago

      Diane, Laughing. My dad didn’t play cribbage, but maybe a game of poker or scrabble? I wouldn’t be surprised if they were together somewhere sharing a good laugh. They sound a lot alike!

      1. Loved that you posted this today, Laurie! It seems to be a day to remember our parents.
        I’m so happy for your dad. And so happy that you share him with us!

          • Laurie Stone

          • 4 years ago

          Diane, Thanks so much. Sounds like we were both blessed with wonderful fathers.

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