h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Just realising that it's been a year since my father died. I am still having a very hard time with this. I can't keep out of my mind that I might have been better able to help my mother and sister had I been home.

Well, I'm going home now. It's not under the best of circumstances, but it's on my own time-line. I'm leaving a job that I love and hate simultaneously.

It's hard to find the words to express what I am feeling. It's very hard to think of the loss, yet I can't stop thinking about it. I never really did come to terms with my father's death. I feel robbed, abandoned, remorse. I know that I could not have stopped it from occurring, but there is always that little demon in the back of my mind.

If you find yourself with a glass in hand over the next week or so I ask that you raise it up for Kent White.

Always will my brother.

I'll raise a glass for Kent White.

It *is* tough to loose a parent.

Good luck with your new life.

tartaronne

Marv, I haven't handled my own situation well enough to be able to advise anyone else. You just learn to put it out of your mind enough to do the things you have to do. And it's only been a year. We all have to work through these things at our own pace. Maybe it would help to try to imagine how your dad would want you and your family to be reacting. He would want you all to be happy and fulfilled, not living half-lives due to grief. I realize that it is easier to accept that intellectually than emotionally.

From one friend to another, Marv. As Hypatia said, how would your father have wanted it for everyone still here? Doubtless he'd wish for you to press forward with your endeavors, that his family would remember him with fondness and hold the memory dear to heart, that you all would draw closer in order to fill the gap.

Here's to Kent White, whose son holds onto the memory of the times they had together with pride and longing. To the ties that bind, even into the beyond.

Marv, it will be two years since my father passed away, come April. I know I'll be too busy to have that event cloud my life, as I'm responsible for a big part of our Refuel Outage going smoothly this year. It doesn't mean I won't think about him; I'll just have to pick times and places where it won't interfere with the 'here and now' business of daily living. My mother took it hard on the anniversary of his death last year, but she managed to get through it by staying busy, being with friends, and communicating with the rest of the family. That might help you, as well. Consider how you might do it.

If you remember, when I was still more active on HooToo back then, I had some repercussions from my father's passing. I lost sleep and it affected me with 'flashbacks of waking dreams', as I chronicled in my posting "Out of the Shadowlands". With the help and suggestions of our friends here at Lil's Atelier, I found several methods of coping with it and coming back to some semblance of normalcy. It hasn't troubled me again.

One of the unintentional side-effects of my father's death was the way it crept into some of my writing. I wound up including it as a short vignette in one of my stories as a way to purge the feelings of loss. This comes from the story "Fountain of Youth":


The novel was one way for me to break out of the rut I’d found myself in; a way to challenge my intellect and skills; a way to leave a legacy for my family. I smiled to myself and shut off the water. Today was one more day in a long string of months wherein I’d labored with my heart and mind to affect a positive change. I breathed deeply and turned to face the next task.

“Mom, I’ll be in the shower for a few minutes. Okay?”

“Sure, son. Don’t use up all the hot water; I have some laundry to do, and I wanted to start early.”

“Now, you know I haven’t taken ‘hour showers’, like you and Dad used to complain about, since the first few months in the military. They drove it right outta me, and I wish you’d remember,” I said, nonplussed.

“Are you suggesting I have that one disease…Old-Timer’s…or something?”

“Alzheimer’s, Mom. And, no, I wouldn’t suggest such a thing. I’m simply curious when you’ll notice I’ve grown up.”

“Have you, now?” She looked up from the list she had finished as she said it, and I wasn’t sure how seriously it was intended, but I think I saw her smirk.

“Okay, I’m dowsing quickly. I’ll be dressed and back out in no time.” I leaned over and kissed her on the top of the head, as an assurance of my word, and headed down the hall to the bedroom for my clean clothes and personal hygiene gear. I found she’d already laid out a fresh towel on the edge of the tub, so I wouldn’t have to hunt for one in the linen closet. The shower did take a few minutes longer than I anticipated, because I had to fiddle with the knobs to get the temperature right, and the water pressure was a bit lower than at home.

Before returning to the kitchen, I went back to what had once been my father’s bedroom. There I stowed the previous day’s change of clothing in a plastic bag in my suitcase and hung my bathrobe on a hook inside the clothes closet. I couldn’t help but stand there with the door open for a few moments, looking at my father’s shirts and pants hanging from the bar, his shoes arrayed neatly on the floor inside. It was odd to consider he would never again wrap himself in those shells of clothing, or sit in the shell of his truck while driving to work, or sit in the shell of his office while developing courses for his students. I also wondered again how my mother was able to go on without his presence in the house, after forty years of marriage, and bear the protracted silence she faced every day. I stopped right then and said a silent prayer for her strength to keep living each day fully, filling her time with activities she could share with the friends she had remaining in her life. I left the behind-the-scenes details to God.


That's it, Marv. Each of us has to find the path to a new wholeness after such a catastrophe in our lives. You'll find your way. We're here to talk with, and we'll offer our ideas. Perhaps one of the things we say will help settle your mind and let you find peace with the situation.
Manly
B4thisposttakesupallthespace

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I still don't feel right, 2 months on from losing my father. Perhaps we evolve, with each devastating loss, we become someone new.

Give it time, Marv. You will heal and life will go on.

I felt much the same when my father passed some 20 years ago. I don't know what your relationship was like with your father, but I remember well mine with my father.

We were very close. More best friends than "parent/child". Yeah, I still miss him and think of him often.....but I still remember him telling me that one day he would be gone. That I should not grieve too much, he would be fine. He would be fine, that is, if I lived my life in such a way that he could be proud of me.

I think your father would be proud of you. Be happy you had his guidance for a while, and pray he transferred what wisdom he gleaned from life to you.

Those are the parts of him that are important. He is not really gone....those things are still alive.

In you.

Never forget that.

NM

Grief is a very private thing... When my sister passed away, I found it impossible to talk about it with my parents, because we were all grieving - all we could do was cry together, rather than separately. Now I wonder if I should have done more than I did. But I think that's taking too much on myself - I'm not responsible for solving my parents' problems, any more than they're responsible for solving mine.

Besides, that year after Elanor died was one big gray wash anyway. I cried every morning going to work, and I cried every afternoon going home. I wandered through my days in a haze, playing computer games to keep my brain from thinking. I don't think I would have been much good to anybody.

I figure that we deal with things when we're ready for them. It sounds like you're ready to deal with the grief of your mom and sis. I think all they need is a shoulder to cry on, and you've got two. to you and your family, Marv.

Here's to Kent White, may his memory never fade.