It was October 17, 1997. After almost 20 minutes of nurses performing CPR on him, an ambulance showed up to take him to the hospital. But it was too late. My father had died of a massive heart attack.
He was 54.
It's hard to believe that my father has now been out of my life the same length of time as he was in it. I find myself in a similar space that I did on the morning I was writing his eulogy at my parents' kitchen counter: I am at a loss for what to say. For how to acknowledge this day. For how to own and speak my truth about the many ways his loss changed the trajectory of my life. Of who I would become. And how the trauma of that day shaped who I am.
I think the best way I can honor not only his memory, but also where I am 25 years later, is to reflect on what I've learned about grief. And what I'm still learning about how I want to live my life.
1. Give yourself permission to heal.
People often want to know a time frame for when it won't hurt so much after a sudden loss. Trust me, I know how indescribable that pain is and how you just want it to go away. I wish I could say it will only hurt for "x" amount of time. What I can say with certainty is that it does get better if you to allow yourself the time to heal. Be kind to yourself in these moments. There is no guidebook for how to work your way through loss - I mean, there are books upon books about grief (believe me, I got most of them after my dad died). None of those helped me. What did help me was just to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Keep showing up each day. Some days even that will be unbearable. Some days just getting up and getting dressed will be all you can give. And that's okay. Don't hide from the grief. You may want to find ways to escape it, but you can't. Believe me, I tried. But I think that because I faced it head on, I'm in a better place today. Little things that helped me through was finding ways to get my mind off of the loss. That will be unique to whatever you find comfort in. For me, I continued to teach, I took up painting, and I wrote. I also found a local grief support group, which reminded me that I was not alone (and I am still dear friends with a couple of those people who are now more like family). And if you need to move and start over, that's okay, too. I left to live in the country with my dad's family for 7 years, and it was the best thing I ever did for myself - and in the middle of all that, I went back to school for creative writing. So much good came from so much loss and grief - we just have to be open to exploring the roads that healing wants to take us on.
2. Listen to those closest to you.
I can say this with 100% certainty: my friends and my dad's family saved my life. Literally. I was so engulfed in my grief that I couldn't see a way out. Year 2 became 3 and I didn't know if I would ever feel normal again. One night I was alone in my apartment and was struggling to get through another day. I called one of my closest friends. After giving me the space to share my feelings, she told me, "It's time you get on medication. You take medicine when you're sick, right? This isn't any different." A light bulb went off. This was the answer I was looking for. I thought it was a weakness that somehow I couldn't get through the loss. But my brain was (and is) just wired differently. I suffer from anxiety and depression and that combined with a tragic loss was the recipe for disaster. I think people have a different relationship with mental health now than they did 25 years ago (at least I hope that's the case, because it should be). I sought out the treatment that was right for me until I was able to get through the hardest parts of the loss, and then, I could see it through un-medicated when the time was right for me. It's not the answer for everyone, but it kept me from self-harm or turning to drugs or alcohol or other ways of escape - and I've seen many fall down that dark path. I hope you have people in your life who will call it as they see it. And if you don't, I'm here to tell you, it's okay to seek help so you can learn to live again.
3. Grief hits at unexpected times.
I've heard people say that they didn't see it coming. They'll be walking through a grocery store, and all of a sudden in the middle of the pasta aisle, they'll start crying. They feel ashamed, embarrassed, or at a loss. This is completely normal. I've been walking across my college campus where I teach and seen fathers with their daughters on Parents Weekend and had to stop and catch my breath. Just two years ago, in fact, I had one of the hardest moments I've experienced in quite some time. I was going in for a follow up mammogram after a suspicious area had been detected (thankfully, it turned out just to be dense tissue). When the elevator doors opened, I saw a crowd of people surrounding a man on the floor. They were doing CPR on him, and the defibrillator was giving automated commands. My own heart started to race like it was trying to beat for him. I was pulled off to the side of the check-in desk and asked to take a seat. That seat was in direct line with the dead man's face. I began to cry. A woman handed me a Kleenex box and asked me if I was okay. I said, "That's how my dad died." She pulled me into another room to wait for my mammogram. I later called my friend to tell her what I had just seen. How I had always imagined how people reacted to seeing my own father dead in a public space. How those nurses in that restaurant also tried to keep him alive by doing compressions on his chest. And in that moment, my friend told me that now I can see how that moment really looked. People weren't just crowding around pointing or staring coldly at him. Some may have been praying. Some may have been crying. Some may have simply left the room and recounted the story of what they saw. But amid the chaos, there was love in there, too. I went home and thought of that man and his family. I wondered if he made it out alive. And if he didn't, I wished him and his family peace before I went to bed. Because I finally felt a sense of my own peace and had a new narrative to tell myself of what that day in the restaurant looked like for my own father.
Grief happens at unexpected times, and you won't always be prepared for when it does. And it's okay. Allow yourself permission to feel those feelings. Then take breathe, take a walk, call a friend, get some rest. And give yourself credit for getting through another day. Tomorrow is a new one, and it won't always be as hard as the one before.
4. Don't get lost in your grief.
The hardest part for me over the years has been to see people who never moved forward with their lives after a tragic loss. To be clear, that loss will always be a part of you, and I can't say how one should or shouldn't grieve. But for me, if I were still in the same space in my life that I was 25, 15, or even 10 years ago, it would truly make me have a sense of regret. I am now only 4 years away from the age my father was when he died, and the best way I can honor him is to live my life the most completely and truthfully and fully as I can. To live a life he was never able to see through to old age. Trust me, this is a work in progress. I know what I need to do, but I have to remind myself almost daily. For me that's trying not to get stressed over small things. Not to work myself to death. Remember to give myself time at the end of the day to notice how the grass feels between my toes, how the dove sounds in the backyard maple tree, how the wind feels on my face as summer turns to fall.
One of my favorite lessons came when I was moving back to Texas after being with my dad's family for 7 years. I was behind the wheel of a U-Haul truck, and before I could even get down the road from my rental home, I started to cry. My cell phone rang, and it was my friend Jake. I told him I didn't know if I could do this. I didn't know if I could face what was ahead of me. He said, "All you have to think about right now is driving forward." It has become a motto for how I live my life during stressful times that I don't think I can get through. But the truth is, I have. And I will continue to do so.
5. Share your story, and allow other survivors to share theirs.
Less than two weeks after my dad died, I was back teaching middle school. I walked into the school cafeteria during lunch and sat down with my colleagues. Everyone looked at me and stopped talking. The rest of the lunch period we all sat in silence. I felt like a spotlight was on me, and that I was the one who was supposed to know how to give voice to my grief. Please know, it's okay to talk about grief and to let people share stories about their loved ones. It's also okay when one of your friends asks how she can help, and because you don't have the words, she'll just sit with you in that moment. I think people worry that they won't say the right thing or think it will be too painful to bring up the loss. But honestly, it's already on our minds. It's not like you'll say, "I'm sorry about your dad," and I will have forgotten that he just died. Sharing memories, talking about them, trying to give voice to your feelings helps us heal. It still does. And I continue to hear how important this is to people who have suffered tragic losses in their lives. Yes, my grief support friend and I have cried in the middle of a restaurant while trying to eat our pancakes as we shared our pain and how we'd overcome it. That's okay. And yes, that same friend sent me flowers for my 50th birthday and I was so overcome with emotion, I cried in the middle of my party. It reminded me that my dad didn't live to see that day, or my wedding day, or get to meet my husband and his two kids. And that's okay, too. Because in the end, all that matters is that you made it. I made it. I survived a tragic loss and I'm here writing about it.
I'm not sure what else I'll do today to honor my father's memory. Maybe I'll go to the cemetery and stand in that open field and feel the breeze to remind myself I'm still alive. And maybe that's enough.
