As someone who can struggle with change, ironically Autumn is my favorite time of the year even though it is the visual representation of change and transformation. But during this season, the cooler air becomes like the glue that keeps our little family close. We tend to feel less guilty about sleeping in and tend to spend more time in our own little world, filled with snuggles, books, reading forts, tea, and laughter.
But as soon as the stores start advertising for back-to-school sales in September, instead of feeling enthusiastic for the brisk chilly weather, my heart turns and my brain churns. Instead of snuggling, I’m up watching the clock and wondering, what am I going to do on October 24th? How will I observe this anniversary? Do I need to recognize this day? Can I pretend it does not exist and skip to the 25th?
Life is split into two, the before and the after. He was here and then he was not.
No one will live forever, everything and everyone must die. But when confronted with this truth, especially with someone who has been there since before there was a ‘you’, this certainty is painful. It said that children are supposed to outlive their parents but that is a difficult burden. If half of me is from him, then how do I move forward when I’m not whole?
It happened and three years later I still cannot say his name in the same sentence as died, I always say passed. If my tongue won’t form the words, then how can my heart?
C.S. Lewis said, “The death of a beloved is an amputation.” But what if you lost your half years before the limb was slowly sawed off. What happens to the feelings, they are there but distant. He existed in the shadows, in the hope of who I wanted him to be.
Then a friend’s father is sick. Same as mine, they say. The friend leans on me because she thinks I’m a beacon because I have walked this path before. Do I tell her that it will get easier or about the guilt? Guilt because it got easier, he used to be in all of my prayers. Guilt because he was not the father I wanted. Guilt because maybe I was not the daughter he needed. Guilt because it is easier to grieve and forget because I never expected him to stay. Guilt because I’m okay. Guilt because I lost the war for his love and presence. Guilt because I never got to say I’m lost. Guilt for not forgiving. Guilt for forgiving. Guilt because I wonder if I miss him or the man he will never be.
She assumes that I have the answers but the ones I have are barely meant for me. I can say you will deal because there aren’t any other options, falling into one’s self is not an option. You will be strong. You will carry on. You will compartmentalize. Everything is placed in its place. But I don’t know if this will help or if this is what she wants to hear. So I offer a shoulder and say nothing.
Time passes.
I remember his laugh, his words, and his huge personality. I remember the end, seeing him hollow and empty in and out of consciousness, barely knowing who I was. But did he ever know? I remember feeling and knowing that the end was coming. I remember saying goodbye, promising that I’ll be back to see him, knowing that this time I would be the one to break a promise. Knowing that we would never make up for the time, we did not have, for the conversations we should have had. Knowing that this time, our time, is minutes from being over.
I learned that my family, both bred and chosen, will support me and they will show their love in mundane ways. That they will grieve with me and for me, that they will physically hold me when I can no longer support myself. That the world will seem harsh and bleak but the family will make it a little easier.
Three years later on that day, I did something for me and something for him. I volunteered at Hafsa’s school and ate lunch with her because I want her to inherit more than my genes. I gave blood for him because charity shouldn’t end just because he isn’t here to give it. And I got a massage for me because carrying the burden is hard on the shoulders.
It is complicated and it is simple. He is gone. I miss him and what we should have had.
I keep going and try not to think about the call at 4:37 on October 24 that changed everything.
