You have to say it. "My dad died."
If you don't, it becomes this untouchable thing, this frozen sadness, and you plunge it deep underneath everything else while you try to float above it -but it doesn't really work that way.
When you practice saying it, saying "My dad died," or, even worse, "My dad died by..." (which I still can't say), it plucks it out of the realm of the surreal and plants it securely in the ground, where it can be acknowledged and dealt with and accepted.
So, I'll say it. Seven years ago today, my dad died.
All day I did not feel a single pang of sadness, yet now my eyes are filling up with tears. Not that I want that sadness to fade away completely because something so horrible deserves so strong an emotion, but this tells me that I need more practice.
I am good at alluding to it. In passing, when people ask, I can say "My mom lives in North Carolina, but my dad unfortunately passed away several years ago." But I still can't talk about it so much. Not in any detail. Mostly because it is a giant conversation stopper and most people have no idea what to say next or they nervously turn the conversation on themselves, and it becomes an intensely lonely moment. Probably the biggest reason why I can't talk about it so much is because, on most days, when I am going to work or brushing my teeth or watching TV, I just don't want to go there.
But today is different. Today, my dad died.
3 comments:
Isabel, what a beautiful post. I have no great words of wisdom except to say we were with you then, love you now. When my mom died and Jim's dad died, I also noticed that people don't want to let you talk about it. But by talking about it, the good things, that person "lives" again and we can smile. It is a very lonely time and we understand. The silence is very painful. We send you special thoughts and prayer for you and your dad.
Thank you, Mickie. It means a lot to me that you would write this. You guys are very special to us.
Dammit Isabel. I get these feelings about you. I have had one for a few weeks and thats why I called you and then we had that awkward speakerphone conversation. I just had this feeling of wanting to give you a big fat boobylicious hug. But I couldn't figure out why. And now when I am finally taking a minute to catch up on your blog, I know why.
Isabel I am as sad for your loss today as the day you told me. I wish I could snuggle with you right now. And I wish I understood better what you have gone through.
I'm always here and I promise that even though I forget to call, you are never far from my thoughts. Your father gave this world the most wonderful gifts. You and Ryan. I am so lucky he did that so that I could have you in my life. I love you so much, my Isabel.
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