I write when I need to work through my emotions. I write to understand the world I am experiencing through words. Today though, I need more than words to find meaning, 

Joan Didion penned, “Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life,”

I lost my father about two days ago. He passed away with his mother and sister by his side. God knows how much I wish I could have been there. I wish I could have looked him in the eyes and held his hand. I wish I could have had more time to explain some of my own feelings that I had dealt with throughout the years… But that’s the thing about losing someone—it sneaks up on you, without giving you the chance to truly say your goodbyes.

If you know me, you know that my relationship with my father was far from perfect. There were good times and bad times. Honestly, if you knew my dad you might have experienced it—he was sure to get his point across whether you liked it or not. He was ready to argue his point until you gave up first.

We loved him despite his argumentative and sometimes hurtful, words. We loved him despite him making poor choices. We cared for him more than he was willing to accept. We tried to help even though he pushed us all away.

There has always been a strangeness about the relationship I had with my father. I tried to change my dad many times, so many times that after a while, I gave up. I tried to love him despite him pushing me away. I tried to nurture a relationship that maybe (we both) didn’t understand how to nurture… But that’s what makes me his daughter. I get my stubbornness from him. I get my passion about certain things from him. I get my fieriness just like he had toward anything that meant something to him.

Like father, like daughter, right?

He passed down his love of nature. He gave me his profound love of dogs. He taught me how to hit a baseball and kick a soccer ball. He taught me that sometimes it isn’t about fancy cars, big homes, or designer clothes—a beautiful landscape will do just fine. He taught me it doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor, clever or dull, smart or dumb. If you give someone your heart, they will give you their’s back.

I think that’s where I am struggling the most… I’m remembering everything about him that I have adopted. I look in the mirror sometimes and catch a glimpse of him. I’ll say something just like he would have said it.

Of course, I have this underlying guilt that I could have done more. I could have tried harder. I could have been more vocal. I could have given him the tough love that we all know he needed. I could have stuck it out. I could have never given up. I could have been a better daughter.

I realize I can’t think that way, but that’s just the stages of grief—and since I’ve never truly felt all those emotions at once, right now is overwhelmingly painful. I know that I was a good daughter. I know that I tried my hardest to develop a relationship with my dad. It wasn’t my fault that sometimes it was more challenging to do so.

Right now, as I write down my emotions, I want to be able to come back knowing full well I regurgitated my feelings onto this page. I want to be sure that I am taking the time to feel everything. I don’t want this to be a cry of self-pity or despair, I want this to be me seeking to understand how memory informs grief, and how death shapes life.

I realize that I am a direct reflection of two people… one of them being my father. I know that deep down, despite all of our troubles through the years, we also shared sweet, sweet memories that shaped me into who I am today.

Looking back on those memories I think of a few key moments.

I’ve never seen my father happier than he was on the day of my high school graduation. In fact, I had never seen my dad cry, up until that day. My dad had never vocalised the magnitude of his proudness to be my father until that day. I pray that I remember that bittersweet time—it was the last hug we shared.

I also remember the mornings I spent with him while growing up. It usually involved a trip to get a donut or him making eggs with his favourite maple sausage. Gosh, he loved making me breakfast on a Sunday morning. He would yell out from the kitchen, “It’ssss gonna be gooood, D!” I pray that my dad knows those were some of the purest memories I have with him.

I remember my dad trying to give me pep talks. He wasn’t the best at them, God knows… but I remember him trying. I pray that I remember his diligence and his effort in trying to father me. He didn’t always have the right answers, but he was humble enough to admit that. I pray to be more humble.

Speaking of humble, my dad was one of the most caring people I’ve ever met toward nature. He cared about the trees. If you knew Dan, he probably at some point had a conversation about whatever tree variety was nearest. Of course, palm trees were his favorite. Goodness, that man could talk for hours on end about anything involving plants. His favorite place to take me was the San Diego Zoo. We wouldn’t just go to see the animals, the first stop for him was always the botanical gardens. My dad taught me about nature and what made each tree or plant variety so special. I pray to always remember to stop and enjoy nature.

My dad loved his dogs. He always had one or two with him. When he would pick me up for the weekend, he would put me in his truck. In the front cab of his truck sat my dad, his dog, and then me (in that order, too). He loved in his own special way but made sure we all knew his love for dogs. I pray to always love my dogs the way he loved his.

I could go on about my dad. I could tell you about so many different stories and memories that only the two of us share. These things though have made me who I am.

Going forward, I want to remember all the good times. I want to remember the pain I’m currently feeling so I know the validity of my love for him. It’s not going to be easy, I know that. I will feel wave after wave of different emotions, but I know that my dad will always be with me in my heart.

Losing a parent is tough. It’s tough now and always will be. I know I should understand that we are meant to lose those who we love. If we didn’t, we wouldn’t know how important they were to us. We couldn’t appreciate and cherish the times that we had with them.

My dad knows that deep down I’ve always loved him. I know he loved me too. He knows the intricacies of my heart. He knows that even though we had a complicated relationship, I have accepted him for who he was and how that the good parts of him are the good parts in me. I suppose as his daughter I should always share those good parts in remembrance of him. He knows I’ve forgiven him, but I hope that he also was able to forgive me.

Love you dad, I’ll always be your baby D. 

UM