Loss and grief are colossal mind games.
That’s the nicest way to put that and certainly not the phrase in my head right now when trying to describe just where my head has been for the past week or two. I consider myself a pretty intellectual, rational person, so I’ve been kind of caught off guard by just how Daddy’s death has affected me.
No one tells you it’ll be like this. And the truth is that no one can.
They can tell you that it’ll get better. That grieving takes time. That it’s a process. But no one can really prepare you for what happens when the steps of that process happen all at the same time or change minute by minute.
No one can really explain just how differently your world will look despite the fact that it mostly looks exactly the same. To everyone who sees me, even people who don’t know me, I look perfectly normal. Nothing about me says “I’m grieving!”
But I feel like I’m radiating it and no one sees it.
And that’s the funny thing about this to me. And also the thing that is the hardest to deal with. The thing that hurts the most.
My day-to-day existence isn’t much different from how it was before, but my world feels slightly off-kilter. Just a little out of balance. Things look a little fuzzy. Not quite right in that I-just-can’t-put-my-finger-on-it sort of way that life is capable of feeling sometimes.
I want to run around shouting “CAN’T YOU SEE THIS?”
The truth is that my life is irrevocably different now. Altered forever. My perceptions of family have shifted. And in a lot of ways I’m afraid. And angry. And I feel invisible.
The married adult children don’t seem to be the ones on people’s radar when someone dies. Concern goes to the widow. To the under-18 children. But those of us with lives, with children and families of our own, fall somewhere outside the spectrum of those we must take care of.
“Oh, they’re adult people! They have families of their own to think about! They’re good. Probably.”
But the truth is that the loss of a parent affects you no matter what age you happen to be when that parent dies. And I’m not saying anyone overtly has the thought that because I’m a 30-something with children of my own I’m not deserving of concern because I must have things under control, but it has very often felt like that in the aftermath of Daddy’s death.
Or maybe it’s because I was his step-child to everyone else but him. Maybe they looked at me and saw “other.” Maybe they really didn’t have a clue who I was and so my hurt wasn’t as important.
I do have people in my life who know that I’m hurting and grieving this loss, but for the most part, this is kind of a silent sort of pain.
But I do hurt. And I’m angry that I can’t just sort of wallow in that hurt for a little bit. That the proverbial show must go on. That there are still a million and one normal life things that have to happen. That can’t stop happening just because my Daddy died.
Dishes. Laundry. Cooking. Child-rearing. Bills. Preschool drop-off and pick-up. Snuggling. Bath time. Bed time. All of it has to keep going except now it all looks different to me somehow. It feels different.
I wasn’t prepared for life to feel so different.
I wasn’t prepared for life to be so different.
I’m so sorry for your loss. Grieving and pain hurts everyone. I hope you find some peace.
I’m so sorry. I just… can’t imagine. The death of a loved one should come with a two week moratorium on life… just two weeks to sit and stare and think and cry and grieve.
Thinking about you.
I am so very sorry for your loss. I am glad you’ve taken some time to write and share. It’s true, nobody knows what loss feels like to anyone but themselves. I can’t begin to imagine your pain, but I know you’re grieving. I send you loads of love and hugs. And a reminder that your strength will keep you going day to day, and the rest of us will be here to hold you up in any way that you need. xo
Oh sweetie, I know you are hurting and I just want you to know, daddy never thought of you as anything but a daughter. He was the type that didn’t care what others thought so don’t let others try to steal the grieving. You grieve, you cry and then you remember the good times. You and daddy have some fun times to remember. The first one to me is when he told you that the bee kissed you, it sure did right on the lips. You sure made the amount of cigarettes he smoked go up when he was teaching you to drive, he had more patience for things like that. Today has been worse than yesterday. I’m so thankful I have you, thank you for all you did! I love you!
I am so sad for your loss and my heart breaks for the grief you have to endure as you go back to “normal”. Support and hugs!
I am sorry for our loss. I pray in time your heart is surely comforted.
(((()))) I felt that way after my sweet grandma passed away the day after I buried my grandpa on the other side. I had like no time to grieve her before I had to go back to work. Sure people were comforting at first but I had to get right back to work and then people were concerned about my mom but I WAS HURTING TOO. She was so huge in my life and then she was so quickly not there. And I had to be back and I had to entertain 21 5 year olds and I had to be strong and take care of my mom and I had to pretend like I hadn’t just lost one of my favorite people in the world. ((((()))
Oh Miranda, I can imagine. Sort of. Grief is a horrible thing in all its forms, and when you put the pieces together to form a grief puzzle like the one you’ve been handed, it’s especially difficult in ways I’m sure a lot of people don’t think about. Yes, life has to go on, but make sure you grieve how you need to.
Amazing post. Amazing. A piece of my heart.
This is going to sound like I’m bitter and well, I don’t know but when Cort’s dad died, his sister got ALL the concern because she was “alone”. Cort and I were married, his youngest brother had a girlfriend who had been with him for YEARS, but his sister wasn’t dating anyone. To this day even though she is now married and has two kids and one on the way, she is the one who gets the concern on Steve’s birthday and anniversary (yesterday). No one says much to Cort or his brother and definitely not to Cort’s SIL and me. We are the “other”. And it hurts and makes me more bitter about the death because I feel like I have to suck it up and deal with it by myself.
What I’m saying is…I get this. I have not lost my dad so I am not going to pretend to know what YOU are going through. But I get the grief and the feeling like it’s off and life just keeps being normal even though IT IS NOT NORMAL AND WHY WON’T ANYONE SAY SOMETHING?
Sorry I just dumped in your comments. Some stuff is unbloggable because of reasons.
I love you.
Reading these comments cements again how the blogging community is full of e-hugs. Wish I was there for IRL ones. Keep writing & venting your loss feelings. I hope they help to be out & shared. I keep thinking of you.
*hugs* I’m so sorry for your loss.
I’m so sorry to read of your loss. It’s been a year & a half since my Daddy passed away. He is still on my mind every day. I still tear up when my kids do something I know he would have loved to see, or when the baby smiles, because I remember that he was the first person my son smiled at… but he will never see this baby smile. It took me over 2 wks to stop crying all day. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Like something was sitting on my chest. I forced myself to stop because my 4 children were grieving too & I knew I was making it worse by being so outwardly sad. I’m still sad, though. I can now think of him with happy memories & not only pain, but life will never be the same. I’m truly sorry for your loss. (((hugs)))