A Decade After Death

on allowing loss to define my life

The lull in the conversation when the person across the table mentions their dad walking them down the aisle. The tight lipped smile and mumbled apology when your coworker refers to your parents in plural rather than singular. The sad eyes around the room when you mention who the song playing reminds you of. It is not difficult to understand why many people who lose a loved one keep it so quiet that you start to question your memory. Was that memorial Instagram post imagined or archived? 

It can feel taboo to ask about loss. A sensitive subject, you never know how comfortable someone may be discussing death and its effects. Of course, no one owes you that. No cause of death or sob story or baring of soul. And it can be just as uncomfortable, if not more, to bring up your own loss. There is a collective catch in breath. As if you have brought the ghost into the room with you. 

Eleven years have passed since my dad died, and still I find myself hesitant at times to bring him up.

I suppose my inhibitions stem from a people pleasing inclination. There is the obvious discomfort that some people express at the mere thought of loss. They ask me what my parents do for a living, and next thing I know, I’m either playing therapist or looking for a window to crack to diffuse the stilted air of silence. But that is certainly not everyone. Many people respond with kindness and empathy, and still there is a burden to appease. They tell me they are so sorry, and I am supposed to tell them what exactly? That it’s okay? That there is an incurable ache that I live with everyday? I have yet to find a response beyond “thank you” that feels both honest and lighthearted. 

All that to say, I understand and respect those who keep their grief quiet or private. It is a sacred and personal thing, afterall. Over the past decade, I have gone through phases of talking more or less freely about my dad and my mourning. What I have found is more loneliness, the less I share. My father was larger than life, and so is the space he takes up in my thoughts. It becomes an unpleasant, unwinnable game to steer conversation away from him.

Because I was 15 when my dad died, almost none of my current friends knew him. The less I share of him, the less they know of me. So while not always comfortable, sharing about the man that raised me offers new depth to my relationships. The memories that we share perpetuate legacy and foster intimacy, and I can think of no greater trove of riches than that.

So, I choose to let my life be defined, at least in part, by who I have lost. If I am branded by the Dead Dad Club, so be it. I am inextricably tied to the other side by the piece of my heart that was dragged there eleven years ago. 

I am not writing about what I think the correct way to grieve is. I do not believe in any moral superiority on how you live after loss. I simply wanted to share what makes the eternal pit in my stomach feel at least a touch less devastating. The religious post-death platitudes are not particularly comforting to me. But being a carrier of my father’s memory, here and now, is. 

I started writing this months ago, and tucked it away. But perhaps because my dad’s birthday is next week, I was drawn to return to it. His birthday is two days before mine, and so ever since he died, there is always an added layer of grief looming. But I would never change that for the cosmic connection I feel with him. A couple of sensitive softies we are. 

Now I promise this wasn’t written in an attempt to self-promote. But I would be remiss if I did not mention that I published a poetry book that is largely about loss, specifically about my dad. Available for purchase here.

Now a summer reminder: if you’re going swimming in the ocean, it’s always good to check the CURRENTS (leave me and my cheesy transition alone)

Listening: At this very moment, the soundtrack to Garden State. Potentially one of the greatest movie soundtracks of all time. But in general, you know I’m a HAIM girl through and through, so I’m blasting their new album I quit.

Watching: DUHHH, Love Island (USA and UK). I have watched every single season of UK, Australia, Games, and All-Star, and almost every season of USA. I am a diehard and it’s my not-guilty pleasure. Cierra is my GIRL on USA. And this season in particular is making me think that men should be banned from tattoos. At least from choosing their own tattoos because they are diabolical.

Reading: Well actually this week I’m on a “reading cleanse” as a part of the Artist’s Way practice. If you’ve done the Artist’s Way before, I’d love to hear about your experience. I am fairly indifferent so far. But last week I finished two books. I read A Clockwork Orange which is so strange but a very interesting and relevant read. And my audiobook was Atmosphere by Taylor Jenkins Reid. I’ve read all of her published works and I just adore her stories.

Cooking: Lots of tacos. Shrimp or black bean are my favorite to make. Tonight, I might make some seasoned tofu tacos. Hand-frying corn tortillas is the MOVE to make them extra yum. The next level I’d like to get to is making the tortillas fully from scratch. But a girl can only do so much.

Crying: Oh I bet you thought I would say crying over Father’s Day or the horrors of the world… Well yeah that’s a given. But the real thing I cried over this week, I am taking care of some dogs and I had to clean doodoo off one of their butts. TMI? Well, imagine how I felt.

Aging: Me. My birthday is July 3rd. Yes, I am a bit of a stereotypical cancer, hence the crying section above. But I already started calling myself 27 months and months ago, so I’m really not phased. In fact, I started to convince myself that I’m actually turning 28. I’m getting ahead of myself but I am honestly excited to be in my 30s, so I have to remind myself to stay present and enjoy the now.

Alright angels, thanks for being here. Life is brutal in so many ways, for so many reasons. If you need it, you have my permission to cry. But when you wipe your eyes, take a second to look around at the people who are trying to make this world a little better. May it give you hope. We will (we must) take care of each other.

Much love.