tw for grief and mentions of death and family loss + cancer and alcohol
Aside from all of the other posting, it has been around four months since my dads passing and as it gets closer to Father’s Day, I find myself increasingly growing numb and uncertain.
I feel envious of others, and I feel bad for it. There are times I see people with their fathers or hear conversations happen and it makes me feel like I have missed out on much, and will never have those sort of talks with my own dad again. A friend complained about his dad and I told him he should be grateful to still have those meaningless conversations. I miss those with my dad the most where he asks what I ate (or why I haven’t eaten because I need to) or what I am going to do because he’s surprised I’m not going out.
I didn’t save our calls, but there was a time I only saved one. I can’t bring myself to listen to it as he sounds tired and weak, but was still willing to greet me as he always had when growing up. He started to not make sense at some point as he started to lose his way of talking. Words didn’t make sense to us, but to him? They did. He’d get upset when we couldn’t piece together his mumblings.
The rapid succession of events had led for barely any time for mourning or any planning if I am honest. I never celebrated my birthday and within the next few days, he passed from traumatic metastatic cancer and in the next breath, we were sat in front of a funeral director with him asking what colors flowers we wanted and having to pick out an outfit for him to be dressed in. We were calling family who I had never met and asking for photos. I looked through old photo albums that were falling apart, filled with memories I could both remember and had some vague idea of. I showed pictures to my mom and she remembered them all. She would laugh and tell me “Oh, I remember that. It was..” and then go through the others I picked and continue to tell me more.
The funeral came. I was forced to go up and speak even when I begged to not go. Nobody else wanted to—not my brothers, nor my mom as she couldn’t. Having so many eyes on you as you try not to cry and recant stories of your dad is hard. The ride home was quiet. So many people filled my childhood home and I don’t remember conversations. I remember being sat and feeling empty, the voices of everyone drowning out. One of my brothers, who had been distant from our mom due to a falling out, came with his family and for once, talked. My aunt mentioned how it was weird that we never meet unless someone died, and I agreed.
I drank with cousins and my brothers a bottle of straight bourbon whiskey that my dad told my mom he wanted us to open ‘when he dies’ and we did so. It was the worst thing I had tasted.
I drank a lot after. My brother did too. I think he still does.
We got his ashes and his giant photo. I strapped him in the backseat and spoke to him like he was still there. Said hello and bye every time.
His birthday came two months later. It was empty. It felt hollow. No phone call or text exclaiming “HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD I LOVE YOU!” and waiting for a picture of him with a cake or him at his favorite restaurant.
Father’s day is near, and I don’t know how I feel. It feels different this time around.
I remember the times I would struggle to figure out what to get him—Should I get him a tool he already has four or five of? Should I get him a new lunchbox, the same I got him the year prior? A new keychain?
Now, I can only reminisce.
I can only wish I did some things different, and wish that I could call him. Wish I could get him a crappy t-shirt he won’t wear. Wish I could even see him again and smell him. It’s weird, but when he was in the hospital, he never smelled like he did. When he died, I would be in his closet for a while just picking shirts and sniffing them. Never wore, just smelling.
Now, I cling to a jacket he had and it’s losing his scent. I worry for the day it does because I feel like I am losing him again.
