Does it really get easier?
There are many, many factors of losing someone, not all get easier.
That so-called pain you feel when you lose someone near to you, the ache that they are not here to help you through it. The stab of agony when you remember that you won’t see them and that they won’t see you.
The thing that caused me more pain in these past four years is thinking what he has missed. Big or small.
He never seen me pass my driving test. He never knew I went to New York, on my own, for 3 months. He never seen me finish college. He never knew what my first full time job was. He didn’t get to tell me Happy Birthday on my 18th. He never seen me turn 21. He doesn’t know what my first car is.
He has never seen Frozen. He doesn’t know what happened on his favourite TV Soap, Eastenders, in the last 4 years. He hasn’t heard any of the music that has made all his loved ones dance. He has missed news and events that has happened. Ed Sheehan performing at the Brits.
Stupid stuff he won’t really be missing and major things he is missing. I might get married one day, have a kid. There are many firsts I still haven’t even covered but he won’t see them.
My dad is my one lost love. The man I thought I would have a lot longer than I did.
The last memory I have of my dad is talking to him on Skype 3 days before he died. He was only 40 minutes away from me and I had seen him 2 days before but he always called or video called us on a Tuesday. He wasn’t feeling great the last time I saw him: 24th February 2013. 4 years ago.
I remember the last 6 months wasn’t the greatest in terms of family. I never went to his much. That happens when you can’t stand who he lives with. I was so mad at my dad. He never did anything wrong, I caused stupid arguments with him. How was I to know that it would stick in my memory because I never really got the chance to apologise about it?
I blamed him for things that I shouldn’t have! It wasn’t him. It was her.
I remember the dish-towel wars we had growing up. I remember he made putting dishes away a game. I remember I got blamed for everything. I remember he used to give me wheat when technically I wasn’t supposed to have it. I remember he used to make us Fray Bentos pies. I remember watching Factor and he’d be annoyed when we talked. I remember watching Demolition Man and Armageddon and Bad Boys and The Karate Kid. I remember not really wanting to go to his because I felt bullied. I remember playing out in the street with the other kids there. I remember the bbq’s and the street gatherings. iI remember sitting out in the street under a gazebo with our neighbours until the early hours of the morning just talking. I remember the water fights and the trips to the back shop and playing with my sisters and going walks in the woods and going to the centre to spend some time shopping. I remember going to the Scotia before kids under 18 weren’t allowed in.
The memories are great. The memories usually don’t fade.
The memory of my dad. His big presence he had. His voice, his laugh, his hand in mine when we walked down the street, the way he squeezed a little too tight making me squirm and laugh. The memory of actually having him here and talking to him has almost gone. I can’t remember how he felt and how he sounded.
That’s where the pain comes. The stabbing pain that I can’t remember his voice unless I hear a video of him.
People say you can feel if someone is with you, watching over you.
I used to feel my dad here. I used to imagine him kneeling beside me to tuck me in and say goodnight, every night. I used to sit on a bus and think he was there. I used to think he knew everything about me. When I was upset I would talk to him and explain everything. When I think I am worthless I used to imagine him standing there and it comforted me to think I wasn’t alone. Someone finally knew how I felt truly. Even though he couldn’t help, he still knew.
I can’t feel him anymore. I’ve not felt him around for a while. I don’t think he is standing there. I knew he was there at one point and now I don’t think he is. I hope he can still see me but I don’t think he can. It breaks my heart. It makes me cry. It really does feel as though someone has stabbed a knife straight through my heart. I can’t breathe.
Every time I meet someone new I hate it because the pity will come. Once they know I’ve lost my dad. OR if it’s not pity they don’t know how to act. Like ‘oh, I’m sorry to hear that’.
The comments I still get about being strong and overcoming more than they ever could. It’s hard to know what to say and I don’t blame them, for now this is what my life is like.
I am not that strong. I am not coping.
My sisters have had their meltdown. I think they even may be starting to come out the other side whenever that may be, I’m not too sure. We don’t really share.
Me: I don’t think I’ve really dealt with it. I have tried to avoid it. I had not accepted this. i have had the thoughts as previously mentioned. The overwhelming memories. The though what he will miss. But I haven’t dealt with it. I haven’t hit bottom yet. I’m scared to.
I grieved for 2 weeks then went back to work. I focus on other things. I make sure I am distracted all the time. I don’t like nights. I think too much.
In conclusion, the pain does not get easier. It’s easy to put it to the back of your mind. To distract yourself. But you will hit rock bottom. I will hit rock bottom. Maybe not this year; maybe not in 2 years. I don’t know when I will and to be honest I don’t want to, but it’s hard to stay in this no man’s land where I don’t know what to do. I can’t move on just now because I still think about my dad missing out on everything he has missed. He has missed so much, and I don’t want him to miss any more.