My Thoughts and Experiences In Dealing with The Death of My Father

After my father passed away, I was a bit hesitant to divulge who it was in my family that had died. I guess I was paranoid about privacy issues, or stolen identity problems. But it has been 2 weeks since my father breathed his last breath with us at his side and I realized that I shouldn’t let that stop me from writing about what I went through. I guess I’m writing this post for some self-therapy and to get all the thoughts I’ve had written down. My dad had apparently beat leukemia two years ago and was in remission, living life as before. Then, late this spring, the leukemia relapsed and he underwent chemotherapy again. With a compromised immune system from the successful chemo treatment, pneumonia set in, and his health degraded with other infections and complications that his body could not recover from. My father was a great man, but this post is not a tribute to him. All those that knew him understand why we all loved him, learned so much from him, and just enjoyed being around him. It was difficult, but I tried to crystallize my feelings towards him to honor him when I spoke at his funeral.

I’m writing this post about his death to illustrate how it can affect you when it occurs to somebody close to you. It’s easy to be objective about death when it involves others. A death in the family is one of those tragic events that's only supposed to happen to other people.  Once it happens to one of your own loved ones, it becomes completely subjective and personal, even though we all know that each of us must die one day. Many of you have been through this type of experience, and I don’t mean to dismiss the significance of your experiences and grief. Rather, I’d like to do what I always do when I write blog posts. I want to tell everybody things that they may not have realized about death, but that I recently have. At best, I can only wish that it may help somebody cope with death better in the future. 

The first thing I realized is that when somebody as close as your father has a severe illness, the minute-to-minute condition of your loved one is something that worries you constantly. The importance of anything else pales in comparison. Eating, sleeping, entertainment or anything else just didn’t matter. Even when I could fall asleep, it was frequently interrupted by spells of extreme anxiety over his well-being. The happiness or sadness of my relatives also became very important, perhaps more important than my own happiness. Their sadness was amplified when it made me cheerless. While we were in the hospital room, the monitoring equipment became a mood changer. Every move of a vital stat in the favorable direction made us hopeful; every one in the unfavorable direction made us pessimistic. It’s an addictive yet destructive habit that stems from worrying and seeking signs of assurance that everything will be alright. My father was unconscious while he was on the respirator, yet we gave words of encouragement in case there was some way he could hear us. Seeing all the equipment and intravenous medicine hooked up to his body made me feel sorry for him even though he didn’t realize what was happening or feel any pain.

Gradual degradation in his condition became a sort of easing into our  realization that he might die. Then, when it finally happened, the sorrow grew stronger, but the worry went away because I didn’t have to worry about whether or not he would make it. I knew the horrible answer. Then what overcame me was a feeling of disbelief. It was nearly impossible to fathom that one of the people I had loved and interacted with my whole life, my dad, would no longer be able to talk, laugh, or sit beside me again. Our last minutes with him after he died were very personal. Many tears were shed and we all said the sort of final words that we prayed he could hear. Even after my father’s heart and lungs stopped working, I actually thought I saw his chest rise and fall as if he was breathing. But it was just a psychological reaction, one that soon passed. Knowing that he was dead suddenly made me want to believe in heaven because it was comforting. I wanted him to see that we were there, that we pulled together, that so many of his friends and relatives came to support him and us. But I wasn’t so sure that his soul wasn’t on its way to being reborn into a new person. This made me both hopeful and distraught. 

All the subsequent cards, flowers, food, hugs, and phone calls from friends and family were invaluable.  I realized that the exact words that were spoken to support me didn’t really matter.  It was just nice that people were there for me and were understanding of my situation. I know that in the future, I will be a better friend to others who might encounter a death in their family now that I have been through it. I used to underestimate how difficult it is so I wasn’t as supportive as I should have been.

Even though it has been two weeks since my father died, it sometimes feels as though he is only gone temporarily… then it dawns on me that his unique combination of body soul and mind is gone forever. And it’s hard to accept. I wish he would have been there to see me get married, have children, or just generally succeed in life. He was the man I went to for advice, the one that brought me into this world, provided for me, and took care of me with his logical yet loving nature. At times I feel as though it’s not fair that he died after living only 66 years. This may sound selfish, but there are many evil people on this planet who perhaps deserve to die, but not my dad. Even seeing nice people living into their 70’s depresses me a bit because he wasn’t given the opportunity to live as long as so many others. It all doesn’t seem right, but this is what God has determined must be reality. 

I don’t cry much anymore when I think about him, but I sometimes zone out when the realization that he is gone suddenly hits me. Seeing others sad in missing him can still make me sob, and one of the strangest things is that I also get tears of half happiness and half sadness when I see how much people cared about him and his family.  Seeing how much they did for us, (and continue to do), to help us through the ordeal is touching to the point that it can be overwhelming. 

Often I feel like my dad is missing out on everything that’s happening right now. Sometimes I wish I could tell him about what’s going on in my life, and then I wish that he can observe it from wherever his soul is. I get a sense of guilt that my life continues without him because it’s wrong for me to leave him behind in any way; I feel as though I should somehow wait for him. But I suppose nobody can perpetually put their life on hold for the death of a loved one. And no loved one would want their family to do so. Life must go on, and keeping busy does help me get back to a sense of normalcy, but that hole in my heart will never fully close. My world has changed. Life will never be the same for me or my family, but I know that my dad would want us to carry forward with the love and lessons he gave to us as well as the fruits of the sacrifices he made for us.  I just wish there was so much more I could do for him.  One important thing I learned from this event in my life is that we must cherish our loved ones when we can and not dwell on petty matters that keep us from being close and sharing life.  It's too precious not to share.

+ Atul

 

Comments

[Sereena X]

Atul, that was very beautiful and I want to thank you for sharing your private thoughts. I can relate to much of what you said. I miss my daddy terribly. He died "too young," also, although suddenly, and not from a lingering illness.

"He was the man I went to for advice ... and took care of me with his logical yet loving nature." It's devastating to lose such a precious relationship.

It does get easier eventually. A little easier.

Take care.

[Atul]

Sereena,

I'm glad my sharing gave you something to relate to, but I'm sorry to hear about what happened to your dad even if it was a while ago. Time is helping a bit already, but you're right that it can only get better to a certain extent. Thanks for the support once again.

[BlondebutBright]

Thanks for sharing this. I think you've done the most generous thing possible in such a tragic situation - tried to find ways to learn from it and understand other's pain better.

[Elizabeth McQuern]

Yes, Atul, thanks for sharing such a private and painful moment in your life. Very enlightening, and I hope, for you, elevating. Thinking of you.

[Dave P]

Atul
You have taken many lessons that we could all use and shared them with us. Your Dad will always be with you in spirit. I am certain that he is very proud of the man that you have become.

The death of a family member brings out so many emotions that we do not feel on a day-to-day basis. My younger brother died when I was 4 years old. There are many times when I wonder what it might have been like to grow up with a younger brother. Fortunately, I have both my Mom and Dad, 2 great younger sisters, a cool nephew and wonderful girlfriend and have met nice people along the way who I now call friend just like you have special people in your life to share life's ups and downs with. It sounds like you have great memories of your Dad and that he was a great guy.

[beige]

Atul,

My sincere condolences to you and your family. Having lost my dad a while ago, I concur with Ms. X in wanting to console you with the knowledge that time will heal the particular wound you're feeling.

Your reminisces will only dissipate, but will never disappear; I still get moments where I think about the old man, on both good and bad ways. (My relationship with my dad was different than yours, but the essential rules apply.)

I am sorry for the loss you feel, sir, but encourage you to experience it, as macabre as that may sound. The grieving process is an interesting and strengthening one, and denying yourself of it is only delaying the inevitable.

Best of luck, one step at a time, and if you need to vent, feel free to contact me.

tbo

[Atul]

BbB,

Thanks for the comment and the support. I try to make this experience positive in whatever way I can.

Elizabeth,
I don't mind sharing sometimes if it helps others as well as myself. Thanks for thinking of me.

Dave,
Thank you for sharing your experiences about your brother. My dad's death definitely made me appreciate my family and friends more. The memories of my dad hurt and help at the same time. It's kind of weird.

TBO,
Sorry that your father passed away a long time ago. I guess grieving and mourning does have a purpose. That I understand. Difficulty in being comfortable with and accepting of the reality is a phase I'm going through now.

+ Atul