Six Months is a Long Time

Six months ago today we buried my father. I haven't been able to write about it because I always said I would when it stopped hurting so much. But six months has done little to ease the void I feel. Instead I've just learned to live with it -- like an endless affliction or crippling ailment with no known cure. The pain of not having him hasn't eased not one bit. I can still cry on a whim when I think about him and I still feel the vast chasm of time from the day he left this earth. The world seems emptier without him. 

I miss him every single day. Sometimes I'll look at pictures or hear my playlist devoted to him, and just cry by myself. It's so easy to cry. Sometimes I'll lie in bed and I'll be in that place where you're not really asleep but you're not really dreaming, and I'll see him or hear him and it will feel so real. When I'm very quiet and very still, I can hear his voice. One day I was lying in bed and I could've sworn I heard him say my name -- it felt so real that I literally jumped up in bed and felt my heart race through my chest. And when I realized it was just my mind playing tricks on me, it felt like he died all over again.

Every time I run out of milk I remember how he never let me run out of milk, or bananas, or Diet Coke. How I was in his every thought. How much he loved my children. I miss his grumbling and complaining about pretty much everything. How in one breath he would get mad at the kids, and in the next sit down and watch back to back episodes of iCarly with them.

I think of the disappointments I caused him and the words I never said and I know that even if I would've done everything right, I would still feel as sad. But having something to linger on gives me instant justification when I go to that dark place in my thoughts and I'm looking for a reason to be there and mourn for him. His presence in my life was a comfort that I will never get over losing. The perfection of that kind of love can never be duplicated and knowing I will never experience it again makes me sad to the point of despair some days.

Every time I cry for any reason, some of those tears are over him. In my darkest moments about anything at all, the sadness of losing my father still grips my heart and ricochets through my gut and no matter what I do, or try not to do, when I'm sad for any reason at all I think of him and it makes me even sadder. Sadness is the perfect place to be sometimes.

They say that crying and writing are therapeutic. In a way I think that's true. It helps to get it out -- but only temporarily. It doesn't really take away any of the pain, it just wears you out to think and talk and write and cry. So you get tired of feeling, until you get the energy to do it all over again.

I'll never forget those last few months. It all began on Easter Sunday when he sat in my house and complained about shortness of breath. A few days later I got the call at work that he had asked to be taken to the hospital and instantly I felt that punch that blows straight through your gut and out your back and it cripples you and leaves you breathless because you know. You just know. Well, I knew. At that moment I knew. And in April when the doctor said he had 8-12 months to live I knew there was no hope no matter what anyone said or what we did. But what I didn't know is that it would be only five.

The last time I saw him wearing a diaper and being carried from the wheelchair to the bed I felt the entire weight of the world inside of me. In that instant I knew I could no longer wish for him to live. The worst part was that he had lost his shame. The manly pride had dissipated as he waited for someone, anyone to sit him up or lay him down. I didn't want my father to live like that but I couldn't wish for him to die either. 

It's so hard. It still hurts. I could write an entire book and it wouldn't be enough. There hasn't been a word invented that really grasps the magnitude of a loss like this. There is an emptiness unlike any other emptiness I have ever experienced that walks with me always. When I'm sad about anything at all, the hole gets deeper. And when I'm happy, it's an ache that I can't share my joy with him and that he left not knowing if I was okay. He left worried about me and I didn't want that. I wanted him to know that I was okay even if I really wasn't.

It's been six months and I still haven't erased his number from my phone although the line was canceled long ago. I can't bring myself to delete it as stupid as that may sound. I still listen to the voice mails he left me...often. I only have two right now and you would think I listen because there was some beautiful poignant message but the truth is all he says is, "Veronica, it's me. Call me when you get this message." But hearing him say my name is enough, maybe because it's the most tangible thing I have left. The most real part of life, his daily calls. I miss those too.

It's been six months since I've seen my dad, and today six months feels like a very long time.

Comments

[Antonia Calderon]

Sorry for your loss and I know how you feel. When my mother passed away this happened to me. One day about a two years after her I was thinking of something and for some reason I said to myself let me call her and ask her. How ironic life is my father forbade her to call me for 10 years and in her last years she had dementia and did not know me. Hang in there you will always remember and you will smile again someday.

[Cindy Johnston]

Veronica,

I hadn't seen you on TwoPeas in a very long time and came to your blog. I am so sorry to hear of your loss. I hope you are feeling better Veronica. I know exactly how you're feeling and cryed as I read your words. I lost my Mom last year and my Dad in 2006. Without parents there is a void that can never be filled. My Mom was there when my Dad passed and I had her but when she passed away there was no one. No parent left. Time helps ease the pain but I feel such a huge void still. It doesn't go away for me but I honestly do think that over time I've learned to deal with the loss. I look at pictures and smile and sometimes cry. I have also saved recordings that I'll still listen to of my Mom and like you I have not erased her number. I even kept her home number that she had for over 30 years. I couldn't let it go. I do hope that you are feeling better and I just wanted to say that I understand and sympathize with your loss and pain. BIG (((HUGS))) to you.

[Angie]

I'm so sorry for your loss, Veronica.

I felt much of the same way about my grandfather who passed away 11 years ago today. The pain subsides after a while, but never goes away.

You wrote ~ "And when I'm happy, it's an ache that I can't share my joy with him and that he left not knowing if I was okay. He left worried about me and I didn't want that. I wanted him to know that I was okay even if I really wasn't."

Veronica, I firmly believe that your father shares in your joy. I believe that he knows that you are okay, still hurting ~ yes, but okay. He may have left worrying about you, but I believe he knows that you are strong-willed and are able to move past your pain and fears.

I don't know you personally, but I've read your blog and fell in love with every single scrapbook page you've ever posted at 2peas. What I read and saw were the thoughts of a very strong woman that is loved and loves others. A wonderful mother that will pass on her strength (and her father's) to her children. You are an amazing woman and you will get through this.

My thoughts and prayers are with you. I wish you all the best.

Angie

[Veronica Paz]

Thank you for sharing. Keep Strong. We love you!

[Elizabeth]

Veronica, you're pain is so raw. I was in a similar state when I lost my mom 15 years ago. Nothing I did, read, wrote, prayed, seemed to ease the grief. The word grief just wasn't profound enough to explain the pain. I felt so alone in the journey through grief that I didn't think I'd survive it. For me, I learned that time doesn't really heal all wounds; it does however help you adjust to this new world you're in where literally everything seems too vivid and intense. They say the worst kind of grief you go through is your own. Only you can make it through it for you. The only way I got through mine was to accept that I was going to be unhappy and so deeply sad for a long time. That it would take as long as it was going to take and I had to be OK with that. I also found it helpful to allow myself to feel whatever I was feeling. Trying to hold whatever emotion in was just too exhausting. One minute I'd be smiling at some cute something and the next I'd be sobbing on the floor because my sadness took so much energy out of me I couldn't even stand. Then I'd be so angry I was screaming. Sometimes all the emotions seemed to hit at the same time and it's overwhelming and frightening. Be kind to yourself during this time. Remind yourself often the regardless of what you said or didn't say or did or didn't do you loved your father and you know he loved you too. I recently read a passage in a grief book. There was a quote that I found very comforting. "Love never ends, love never dies. Love is forever, infinite, everlasting. The web that connects us can never be broken and can only trap love and kindness in its net."

Hang in there. Your pain will very gradually ease. Hold onto the moments that don't hurt. They eventually come more often.