My experience losing my [single] father: An essay in honor of my dad, myself, and the time we shared
“I feel like I could write about my dad for my whole life” — me
“You probably will…” — one of my beloved sages
Kent Edward Roediger
Rest in Peace
December 4th, 1957 — September 18th, 2017
It took me months to write this, and I have decided to share it after going back and forth between sharing it and not. Let me gently inform you that if you have already experienced losing a parent, or recently lost someone you really loved or were connected to, this may bring up some strong feelings for you. Even if you have a complicated relationship with a parent, this might stir up some feelings for you. I think my experience is worth sharing, both for myself and to help others in the grieving process. But really, take this as a fair warning. There’s a good chance this essay will make you feel stuff, and cry, so be in a place where you feel safe doing that.
My dad, who raised me himself, passed away unexpectedly and peacefully in his sleep in September 2017. He would have been 60 in December. Today, March 18, 2018, marks the 6-month anniversary of my dad’s passing.
My father was a very tender and emotional soul. He was 30 when he had me and had a pretty unhealthy relationship with my mother, who was 42 at the time. My parents fought a pretty long, brutal, and in many ways abusive custody battle that lasted an entire year and went through seven judges. Of course, there was a heavy bias to grant custody to my mother, and it wasn’t entirely clear who was the more fit parent, quite frankly. I went into the foster care system for a brief period (due to violence, neglect, and drugs) and by the end of the complex yearlong battle, my father was granted full custody of me; a vibrant, loud, and clever 3 ½-year-old little girl. I am my dad’s only child.
My dad did not know the first thing about healthy parenting, nor healthy relationships in general. Of course, as generational trauma and neglect will have it, from what I know, he did not have the nicest nor healthiest childhood himself. But there was something in him that told him to fight for custody of me, and that by doing so, I’d have a happier life. Who knows if that was true, or not. But, that was the beginning of my wild journey of life alongside my dad, living with him and just him, from age 3 ½ to 18.
Perhaps my dad’s biggest shortcomings, for himself and for me were: 1) his lack of personal development and growth and 2) his substance abuse and misuse. Particularly troubling were his bouts with crystal methamphetamine which concluded with a final arrest when I was 11 that remains one of the most traumatic events of my life. For those of you who have never experienced the incarceration of your single parent and sole provider, I am sure you can imagine the pain, the fear, and the shame brought forth by such an event. I have yet to fully and healthily process that experience, and as such, those emotions come up elsewhere in my life as an adult.
My dad couldn’t ever really handle life — being an adult. He never “had it together.” He wasn’t able to give me the care, attention, and basic needs that every child should have. He had no boundaries; confided in me about everything; including his drug use; and relied on me for his emotional, and financial needs. He didn’t have the tools to grow, and then did not seek them out elsewhere in adulthood. I could, [and kind of have, in a 12-step program] write ad nauseam about my dad’s issues, and how they have affected me as a 30-year-old woman. But that’s not the point of this piece. The point is to share with you the process of losing my dad and to highlight some of the beauty of his personhood and his fatherhood.
My process of losing my dad was really hard, and it still is. Him and I lived together, just the two of us, my whole life. When my dad passed, the shock [denial] lasted from September until I went to visit my family in December. I took virtually no time off from work, and I had a friend staying with me here in LA from South America. For three months I cycled incessantly through ignorance, shock, disbelief, and relief, and then guilt feelings about the relief. Luckily, I have a very good support system, which surely eased the insanity, but it was still insanity. The strongest feeling during the winter was certainly relief because I knew he had been suffering a lot, living a life filled with addiction and irresponsibility. There was a deep feeling in me that said: “wow, it’s over, you’ll never have to take care of him or worry about him again.” It took a while for me to not feel guilty about this.
Oh and anger — I surely have felt a lot of anger in cleaning up all his messes and dealing with the logistical and legal aspects of an unexpected death wherein I am the one person responsible for everything. Don’t get me wrong — I have amazing support — especially from my aunt and uncles, but at the end of the day, I am the person who is responsible for things. So a lot of anger has come up. “I’m cleaning up after this fool, again?!” — Yep, it’s not the first time, but it is the last.
I was really grateful that he left this earth pretty peacefully, despite leaving everything in his life, including his relationship with me, in complete disarray. He didn’t hurt anyone else; he didn’t spend tons of time and money in medical or psychiatric care; he just quietly left us and transitioned to whatever happens when we pass.
I’ve only really stepped into the “depression” and “acceptance” stages very recently, like around February. January was filled with lots of newness and a new year, but as the month ended I started to really feel the loss of the only other person who formed my nuclear family as a child. I think of him often, and I cry a lot. I sometimes miss him, thinking of him laugh (I have his laugh, as my high school friends know). So now, I want to share some of the beauty of his life, his interests, and his experiences/successes as a parent.
My dad is the person who really made me believe that I could do anything I wanted to in this world, and who always had my back. He told me those two things frequently. He bragged about how smart and ingenious I was, especially as an only child. I was always inventing games and creating in order to entertain myself. I really do believe I can do anything I want, still, and I really thank my dad for that.
My dad showed and told me that he loved me every day. I felt loved as a kid. He would yell to me in my bedroom while we were both going to sleep that he loved me more than all the grains of sand in the world, more than all the little ladybugs in the world, more than all the drops of water, and all the molecules in the sky. I’ll never, ever, forget that.
My dad loved cats, and would cry if he ever saw his own or other cats suffer. He liked to keep them kinda wild, never de-clawing his cat or making her stay inside. My dad loved to cook, fish, play guitar, and had a green thumb. I love all of these things too and decided to learn guitar this year for both myself and in his honor. I’ve asked my higher self to bless me with my dad’s green thumb, and now I have several beautiful green plants in my house (some are his!). My dad kind of identified as a redneck but also hippy-ish, completely lacking education and critical thinking skills. A republican who smoked weed every day and really enjoyed relaxing [too much], and enjoyed the simple things. I certainly acquired his passion for simple yet delicious cooking and enjoying every single bite. He was creative, and while he never really produced much; he had an eye for colors, design, and aesthetics that he certainly passed on to me.
When I think about the things that showed that my dad gave fatherhood his very best, I think about a lot of things. So many things. I think about how he would leave me two little egg and chorizo burritos in foil and a small café con leche in a thermos for when I got up to go to middle or high school, as he would leave the house at 4 am when he was working (construction). I think about how he would take me to the park and pull me around the hills on a blanket. I think about how he would let me indulge in my love for cheese and mac and cheese, on the regular, and absolutely loved to spoil me with my favorite cheeses when he could afford it. I think about going out to dinner with him and just hanging out and enjoying a meal together. I think about how he taught me the basics of working on cars and trucks. I think about him learning how to do my hair when I had to start school, and how when he got the hang of it he totally went wild with the ribbons. I think about him repeating “my daughter is a boss” to his few friends. He lifted me up. A lot.
About a month before he died, I had a birthday fall on the total solar eclipse. This was his facebook post about it.
I see him in me every day when I look in the mirror, whether it’s my nose (exact same nose), my athletic frame (also from him), my indulgence in the most delicious and simple things, or my character defects. It’s all a part of me. He is a part of me, and always will be. And that is perfectly imperfect as I work towards breaking the chains of family dysfunction and addiction. And whatever has allowed me to arrive at this point in my life where I am doing just that — whether it was my dad’s love, my temperament, or both and more, I am immensely grateful.
Holding my sweet dad in all the light and love; may he rest in peace as I continue to work towards peace in my own life, and thank him for the life, love, and care he gave me.
Thank you for reading. Much love to you all.
