A Little Glum

I’m kind of sad today. It makes sense I suppose, Father’s Day is coming up. We were watching TV the other night and one of the relentless ads for Father’s Day gifts came on with the tag line “Hard to buy for father?” I just casually answered “Not anymore”. It caught Frank off guard, and I meant it to be funny, but I guess it really isn’t. Or shouldn’t be anyhow. I told Mom and she said she’s had the same thought when confronted with the ad. At least I know where my humor comes from.


I’ve actually been thinking a lot about grieving since Dad died. Things like, am I repressing my feelings? Am I reacting correctly? Why aren’t I crying? Why don’t I feel so sad? Why didn’t the world shatter like I always thought it would?

I know the answer to that last question. My world didn’t end because while my father was and always will be an important part of my life, he is only one part. And I knew that part would end one day, and he wouldn’t want me to fall apart. And also, when I first starting thinking about losing my parents I was worrying over what could be, what it might be like, where my own life would be. Worrying about things is always worse than when they actually come to pass. And of course, I am surrounded by wonderful people, especially my husband who just seems to know when I need a hug, when I need to be alone and when I need to be silly. He’s an amazing creature.

I’ve spent the last month helping my mom make sense of forms, find bills, contact various agencies and giving her moral support as she remembers she’s an intelligent, resourceful human being. She’s doing really well. And honestly, being concerned about her meant I had something to focus on. Oddly enough, when I do stop to consider how I’m doing the thought just kind of slides off. It’s like there is no data there, nothing to ponder. I call it the logic wall.

Written on the logic wall are the following, you may have heard them because it also seems to be what I tell people when they say they are sorry to hear about my dad:

• He was 74 and his doctor said he had the body of a 90 year old, and yet he wasn’t incapacitated by the various body parts that weren’t working right anymore. He’d have an issue, they’d fix it and he’d go about his life. He was never really sick.

• He had a great life full of interests and people.

• I had 36 wonderful years with my dad.

• I got to see him before he died, to tell him I loved him and hear him say he loved me. I got a hug. I know there was no time lost, nothing left unsaid, no regrets.

• He went out on his terms, with no pain and with a decision we all agreed on

• I got so much more than so many others have gotten

• Parents grow old and die, it’s how the cycle works. And given everything, it was a good death.

Nothing on this wall says I can’t be sad, but when I read it, when I feel it, part of me thinks I don’t have a real reason to be sad, other than my father isn’t alive anymore. Shouldn’t that be reason enough to cry? Can’t I just be a little girl who’s lost her dad? But when I cycle to that thought, the first thing that I think is that it could have been so much worse and everything worked out so much better than I’ve had any right to expect. It almost feels like complaining.

So I guess it comes down to not feeling like it was unfair, not feeling cheated and because of that I just can’t find words to express the sadness. And without those words for some reason the flood of tears I keep thinking should happen, doesn’t. I’ve teared up writing this; I did in the car this morning as well. My heart is heavy because I know I won’t be calling my dad on Sunday, but it isn’t upset. It’s kind of like the world is misty and damp when I keep expecting it to rain like hell. The weather just won’t break.

Then I think about a coworker who was encouraging me to be upset because she held it in and ended up passing out at work a year later after a freak out. I don’t think that one’s really a danger, but I’ve thought maybe I should talk to someone. But that brings me back to words. I don’t have anything to say. My father is dead. I feel his absence, but it doesn’t stop my living because this is how it is supposed to be. And then I feel heartless, like there’s something wrong with me for not wailing and rending my clothes. The answer to that is we all grieve in our own way, all look at death differently.

See? I have all the answers, it just doesn’t feel right.

Ah well. Oddly enough this reminds me a bit of my divorce. After a point I started wondering if I was handling things too well, if I was going to suddenly snap and become a Lifetime Movie. I went to a therapist. We sort of talked for an hour. There was a lot of her asking questions and me answering them in a way she didn’t expect. She pronounced me okay, my ex possibly slightly sociopathic and gave me some great advice which I followed to good ends. With the exception of one rather justified public screaming incident, there was no melt down.

So with that knowledge I think I just need to be okay with having glum days, and be okay with being okay.  I guess I'm doubting myself because of what I think others might be thinking, going back to that old standby of worrying about people thinking I'm not normal.  Well I'm not, none of us are, and that's what makes us interesting.  It’s that whole being human thing. And keep telling myself all this until I believe it.

The inside of my head is a weird place, in case you were wondering ; )