Looking back over those first few years after my dads death, I see how much I wasn’t prepared for cancer and a loss of that magnitude. I don’t think anyone can be prepared for it. It will hurt to say goodbye to people you love, no matter the circumstance. Death is an unavoidable part of being human. It’s an experience everyone will have to navigate. It’s what unites us and why we should care about others while we’re here on this rock, still hurtling through space.
Cancer is a journey almost no one can avoid. I found that accepting death is a process. Nobody warned me. Confronting loss showed me I’m no more special than any other creature on this earth that lives and dies. It also showed me I can remain humble, without having the answers to everything.
Mourning and grief are not things people teach let alone talk about. In my experience I found you have to concentrate on the minutes, hours, days and eventually months to get through it. That’s all anyone can do, there’s no easy or perfect answer. My breakdowns eventually faded and I learned to cope with it all, even though I never believed it was possible. I was never the toughest, bravest, or strongest person but still I survived the horrifying wave of loss from pancreatic cancer.
Over time I realized it’s okay to be emotional, you don’t magically go back to normal. In some ways getting back to normal can be the hardest part. I learned it’s vital to reach out and get help, something I regret not doing. There are professionals for cars, appliances, finances, when we need surgery or have a toothache. All things we typically don’t specialize in on our own. So why are people skeptical about finding a qualified professional who helps with our mental health? Our brain is one of the most complicated organs in our entire body and we pretend it doesn’t need assistance. Everything about us as humans is connected, the internal to the external. When one part suffers, everything else follows.
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It was hard to accept my dad leaving. When you have a dysfunctional relationship and the door closes, there’s a terrible reality that there won’t be any do-overs. You can’t replace the bad moments forever etched into your history. My dad had been a source of great pain and confusion in my childhood. Just acknowledging that fact brought me terrible guilt and shame. How could someone in my life conjure so many extremes from good to bad? How do you reconcile the pain? How could I be honest about my story without disrespecting his memory and legacy?
All of this internal struggle was not something I had seen coming. Anyone who has a dysfunctional, abusive and or addicted parent has to come to some conclusion about what they think of them when they are finally gone. Sometimes it’s an easy answer, or maybe it’s deeply confusing. I had to take stock of a lifetime of memories to figure out what it was I felt about my dad in order to fully move on and say goodbye to him.
All at once, I was trying to understand my dad, our relationship, our family’s complicated history, accept my new identity and process the trauma. Another dimension of my anguish rested on an insecurity of not having communicated that I loved, cared, and appreciated my dad as much as I felt I should have while he was alive. I never even once said he looked nice when he was dressed for fancy occasions. I don’t think he truly cared but it still bothers me that I never thought he had feelings. I took him for granted. Did he know how much he meant to me? Would he ever know how much I appreciated him? Would he ever know that I forgave him as a flawed but genuine person, who did everything he could for me?
All the anger I initially felt was me not knowing how to mourn the relationship and future I felt robbed of, as well as what could never be changed. After the anger and bitterness passed, I became a person who was more understanding, empathetic and patient, but it took time to see it. I stopped fearing the moments that I never got to share with my dad and all the words never exchanged.
Eventually I stopped hunting for signs of how he felt about me because I realized through a lifetime of memories, that all he did was care about me. After years of reflection, it feels silly that I ever let the grief undermine it. All the lectures he gave us, all the forwarded safety emails, he was constantly focused on keeping us safe. Even though he got many things wrong, I don’t think anyone will ever worry and care about me as much as he did. When that person, that kind of love leaves, you feel it and it will hurt.
The funny thing is, now wherever I go, whatever I do, I can still hear his voice telling me the safest or most important instructions. I have to laugh because it reinforces most of my decisions. In many ways, it seems like that must be all a parent can hope for. That even when they’re gone, they can still remain with their kid and help them. It’s in this way that I learned to accept my dad’s death. In this way, I know he is in fact always with me and that he will always be. Whether it’s the mental reminder to be safe out driving or looking at my reflection in the mirror. He is there.
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Before Pancreatic cancer I had been resolved that the life of an art teacher would be my mission. After my dads death I found a new feeling inside me that wouldn’t leave. My motivations and fears at night were about how much I wished people understood Pancreatic cancer, care taking, grief, hidden addictions and the importance of mental health. If I died tomorrow, what did I do to help that? A new part of me that felt I had to do something. What it was, I didn’t know. The feeling was there every morning and there every night when I went to bed. I still feel it every day.
After losing my dad I understood just how brief our life on this planet really is. With him here and then gone forever made me think about all the time I spent being afraid over things that I can’t control or that might never happen. His death made me urgently aware that my life would be over one day, quicker than I could ever be prepared for and what will be my legacy? What will I keep myself from seeking and accomplishing out of endless fears?
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I don’t know what is out there in the universe, out there beyond death. But I honestly don’t believe it’s “nothing.” With time and some healing, I got back my ability to feel that. It’s important to have some sort of positive mindset or spirituality to get through life. Anything that brings balance and peacefulness is good amid the endless uncertainties. I feel deeply that something much bigger is out there, far more mysterious than I could ever begin to dream of. I still try to look for signs of the mystery. I try to send messages out to my dad every now and again, in case he is listening. I still talk to him and not just on Fridays.
Looking through my mess of book notes and old emails, I found one written to him. It was from when the Cassini spacecraft was ending its nearly twenty-year mission and set to crash into its object of affection, Saturn. The same little planet I strained on my toes to see that night in our driveway, oh so many moons ago. Naturally, there was only one person I could think of that sad Thursday after school. While awaiting that little machine’s inevitable end, I sat down and wrote to my dad:
“It’s been almost three years, this is my second year teaching. Sometimes I look back on the little things in my day and I wish you could see them. I wish you could see me with my kids and my classes. Sometimes I see birds, like the giant old crow on the playground fence, or a blue jay peering at me through a window and I think of you. On occasion, an overjoyed butterfly swirls around me and I wonder if it is possible that you are there somehow. I think maybe you are, but I can’t explain it. Every time all the traffic lights turn green heading home after a long day, I can hear your overprotective and imposing voice, “You need to get your butt home.” Even after death, I don’t think anything or anyone could ever stop you from worrying about and looking out for me.
The Cassini spacecraft is going out today, as it will be obliterated into my favorite planet. Its long secluded, robotic life and impending death make me sad. This incredible creation, that gave so much insight into that beautiful planet and faintly understood part of our universe, will now cease. It was never supposed to last for that long to begin with. A truly extraordinary thing. I don’t know if you are watching, you’d definitely be there, you wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Shine A Light On Me 