It was now officially a whole year without my dad. The door I had been fearing for months, had opened. Inside was the void taking me away from my dad’s life, existence and memory. I hung onto the door knob, clasped the sides of the doorway with my tiny hands and fingers, fighting with everything I had in me. I held on tightly as I slid further away from the comforts of the familiar light, from what I truly felt was my last connection to my dad. I was ushered away to a strange place, leaving behind the person who had shaped so much of my world. But it was over now and there was nothing more I could do. I don’t know what I expected or what I thought would happen.
When the day finally found me, I was calm. Surprisingly calm. There were no dramatic changes or terrible calamities that greeted me. I was in a new place, the farthest I’d ever been from my dad’s presence. Now, the list of all the things he’s missed in my life will grow larger. Memories of him are all that’s left. I had no idea who I was, where I was or where I was going.
•
Anticipating what would be a difficult day and giving Jon a rest from any emotional outbursts, I went out to be alone. My favorite places, embarrassingly enough, always seem to be grocery stores. So I went to a nice grocery store, bought a notebook, pen and lunch. I sat and ate by myself in the cafe, sitting alone at a bar in front of a massive window. Without realizing it, I ate sushi just as I had on the day he died.
After I finished eating, I opened the notebook and started to write. I wrote about my dad and the whole experience of cancer for two hours, writing until my hand cramped. I went over all the pain, the anger, despair and depression that I just couldn’t seem to outrun, that I felt imprisoned to:
“After a year, it’s finite. Now I am further from him. Now I think of things he will never see, all he has missed. That more than anything hurts me. I think of him as I sit in this grocery store. He’d be getting avocados, garlic, peppers and if they were any good, some cantaloupe. On this day my disbelief is marginal, that I’ll never see him like that again, when I can still see it so clearly in my mind.”
I wrote about how angry I’d been only two months earlier and was now suddenly calm. There was also another transition, my dreams were no longer nightmares. Before, I would wake up devastated, dreaming of him sick all over again, having to endure all the fear and stress. Now a year later, I was starting to actually enjoy being asleep where those dreams gave me more time with him. It was nice to feel, even for a brief moment, some hope again.
At least in my dreams he was still here. In that weird phase, it felt better to at least see him in my sleep, sick or not. At the time, it was impossible to notice any minor improvements like that. During that early stage I was lost in the dark and only focused on things that were wrong. There were many moments out loud I would still confess, “nothing good is ever going to happen again.”
Shine A Light On Me 