Grief: 2 Years Without Dad

Two years ago, on May 7, 2019, we sat with our Daddy as he left this world to be with Jesus. We spent a day and a half with our immediate family sitting by our Daddy as he was dying. We took turns holding his hand, playing his favorite songs for him, reading him Bible verses, making him comfortable, and inevitably sharing some tears and laughs during it all. Since this week is the anniversary of his death, we each wanted to share some reflections on our grief journey and how life has been without our sweet Daddy.

Taylor’s Perspective

During the 4 years that Dad first got sick, made an incredible recovery, and had off and on health scares, my biggest fear in the world was losing him. Some days it was all consuming. I couldn’t focus on my job (at the time, I was a 3rd grade teacher). I kept my phone on me at all times in case my stepmom had to get in touch with me. I called him almost every day. I cried and gave him about 20 hugs and kisses each time we said goodbye in person. Every time I got into the car to leave his house I spent the first 30 minutes of the car ride telling my husband that maybe it was the last time I would see him, blubbering like a baby. The fear of his death was like a cloud hanging over me for so long. Would he be able to walk me down the aisle at my wedding? Would he meet my daughter? Would he be able to come visit us in our new home in Raleigh? Would he be there for my daughter’s first Christmas? It became my new normal to look ahead at the next life event and wonder if he’d be around to experience it with me. 

So much of my grieving happened when he was on life support and during the ups and downs of his recovery in those four years. In some ways I had felt ready, but you’re never really ready. I knew the day would come, but I also didn’t think it would ever come.

Then it happened out of nowhere. My worst fear became my new reality. Saturday evening I FaceTimed him with my daughter to say hi. He seemed a little confused like he usually did when he got an infection. Sunday he didn’t answer my call, and my stepmom said he was having a bad day. Monday I got a call from my stepmom during school saying that if I wanted to see him, now was the time. Within hours my husband, myself, and my 3 month old daughter drove the 9 hours to see him. He was already unconscious, and I’m unsure whether he knew we were there. The next night he died. 

My deepest fear happened. And I was still living and breathing, making it through each minute somehow. That week was a blur. Each day I could barely keep track of what I had to do, take care of my daughter (bless my husband, nieces, and formula/bottles), and was losing things left and right. I fumbled through the funeral preparations, the viewing, the funeral, and went back home being thrown back into the real world too fast.

 During the first few months of my dad’s death I found myself thinking that if I could get through losing my dad, which was my biggest fear, then I could get through anything (correction: God could get me through anything). I also viewed the last 4 years as extra time. He almost died, but he didn’t. We got 4 sweet years together. He and I shared so many laughs, tears, and honest conversations. He did get to see me get married and meet my first daughter. We had holidays and visits in between. Our time together was so much more purposeful. It was truly a gift from God to have that time.

In August, just 3 months after my dad died, my mom died unexpectedly. I have to admit that with the suddenness of my mom’s death and the layers of secrets and complications surrounding it, it felt like the grieving process with my dad went to the backburner for months. It made me feel guilty, like maybe I loved him less or that I missed him less. Those things weren’t true at all, but I couldn’t grieve both parents at once. It was too difficult. The rest of my year without him was a blur as I fumbled my way through my mom’s death.

Now here I am. Two years without him. I have finally started remembering my dad during his healthy years, the dad I knew growing up. I love telling my husband about that version of my dad, since he met him after he got sick. It is important to me to remember my dad during his last years with us because there were so many sweet moments – and he was truly a fighter – but I think it is also important to remember him before his illnesses. I still tear up when I hear the songs Edelweiss from The Sound of Music and Early Mornin’ Rain. When I really want to call him, I close my eyes and can hear him say “Hey girl!” like he always did over the phone. I try to remember what it was like when he would squeeze my hands during our early morning coffee chats before anyone else in the house was awake. I read the parts of his autobiography that he dictated to me and can hear him talk about his life as I turn the pages. These things help me keep his memory alive. But sometimes it seems like he was never really here with us. Like he didn’t exist. And that feeling has really scared me lately. It feels like he was just on the phone with me telling me he loved me, yet it also feels like a lifetime ago. 

I am still grieving, still crying, still a Daddy’s little girl trying to make it through the little moments and big moments without him. Today I will call my sister and my stepmom. I will eat a donut stick with my husband and daughters (his favorite breakfast food). I will be missing him just like I do every other day.

Morgan

I’m a writer. That’s supposed to mean I’m good with words. I should be able to take my experience and say it eloquently and in a way that makes you connect with it. That’s the point of a blog, right? The first time I tried to write this blog, I had a full-fledged meltdown. Thinking back through my dad’s death and the days leading up to and following it brought up emotions I didn’t know I still had. That’s the thing about grief. It can still surprise you. It can be just as bad as when it first happened. 

When my dad was sick, I learned about the term “anticipatory grief.” I felt like my life with my dad was a ticking time bomb, going to end at any moment. During his recovery, I drove back and forth from Huntsville, AL to Atlanta, GA to help my stepmom take care of him and to make sure I saw him every chance I could. Seeing him sick triggered my biological timeline in a way I didn’t expect. I suddenly felt pressure to get a boyfriend, get married, and have kids, especially if my dad would be around for any of it. I grieved so many things while he was still alive. 

If you look at the typical stages of grief, I experienced them while my dad was sick. I went through denial when he first went into the hospital in 2015. Anger followed closely after. The second time he went into the hospital in February 2016 was when I hit the bargaining phase. By Easter that year, it was depression. All of that ebbed and flowed for a while. When he finally got put into palliative and then hospice care, there was a sort of acceptance about what was happening. All of this made grieving his death somewhat easier initially. I convinced myself it was something I could be prepared for.

Having an “older” dad meant that, in theory, I knew my dad would die when I was younger. The problem is that 26 suddenly felt incredibly young. I was finally coming into my own, settling into the person I always knew I could be. And suddenly, my dad wasn’t here to see it. Like Taylor said, nothing can ever really make you ready. Getting the call that Dad wasn’t doing well again felt like another step in an already long journey. We’d been through this before. But this time, Dad had made his wishes clear: no more hospitals. So we waited. I packed a black dress as an afterthought. Just in case. 

The timeline of my dad’s death looks like this: 

May 7: Dad died

May 10: Graduation from graduate school (where I didn’t walk)

May 13: Dad’s Wake

May 14: Dad’s funeral

May 17: Moved from Georgia to Nashville

May 21: Started a new job

I cried a lot, but I didn’t really have time to grieve. I walked through life a day at a time, convinced that my dad wasn’t actually gone but that I was just too busy to talk to him. Once my mom died, part of me shut down completely.

I didn’t realize just how much I had failed to grieve until the one year mark of Dad’s death. I was living with Taylor during the COVID-19 pandemic, and suddenly, I couldn’t sleep. I was exhausted all the time. I had nightmares every night. I felt like I was holding my breath, but I didn’t know why or how to let it out. My “I have to write this blog post” meltdown felt similar. Why was I reacting this way when I knew this date was coming? 

My therapist explained it like this: My dad’s death is like a brick wall in the middle of an obstacle course. I see it. I’m preparing for it. I’m doing my best to move around it. But it’s a freaking brick wall. Of course I’m going to hit it. Now, I might eventually hit it at less speed or barely scrape past it. But it’s year two. It was another intense collision. And that makes sense. 

There are so many things I miss about my dad. His laugh. How goofy he would get, singing songs and telling jokes. How loud he always had the TV. How much he loved the greats of country music – Merle Haggard, Johnny Cash, George Strait. The way he called me “Morgie Beth.” There is part of me that will never be the same. I am a 28 year old girl without her father. But I am the girl he raised me to be. That, and my memories, are all I’ve got.