As I clutched the phone, listening to the muted sounds of the ICU where my father lay in his final moments, I thought to myself, This is the worst part. This was the moment I had steeled myself for ever since his diagnosis of esophageal cancer nine months ago. Each chemotherapy setback, every hospitalization, and all the family events we missed led us to this heartbreaking juncture. We were painfully aware that cancer would steal my father from us, depriving my children of their grandfather.
He was slipping away, and while his suffering would soon be over, I felt utterly powerless, 1,600 miles away, as I whispered my goodbyes through tears. When the nurse’s voice broke the silence, saying, “It’s over. He’s gone,” a strange sense of relief washed over me. My father had found peace, but little did I know, my own journey of grief was just beginning.
Five years have passed since that devastating day, yet I still find myself grieving daily. Not a single day goes by without that familiar ache of loss, whether it’s a moment I wish I could share with him or a fleeting glimpse of his smile reflected in my son’s face. I have not moved on from my grief, and frankly, I don’t want to.
Grief is not a transient emotion like anger or sadness. Some may refer to grief as a “process,” but that implies a conclusion, a point where you can declare, “I’m done now; I don’t miss my dad anymore.” That’s simply not the reality. My grief is a permanent fixture in my life, and I wish people would stop urging me to get over it.
Surprisingly, I find value in the person I’ve become through this painful experience. My grief has enhanced my empathy, making me a better friend to those navigating similar losses. I’ve learned that actions often speak louder than words—doing a friend’s laundry in times of crisis is sometimes more meaningful than delivering a casserole. I understand now that flowers wilt and end up in the trash, so I choose to bring wine instead.
Grief has also fostered my compassion for strangers. I no longer rush to judgment when someone is short with me or when a driver cuts me off in traffic. I recall my own struggles during the early days of my loss, like the anxiety attack I had in a grocery store parking lot that left me unable to lift my bags. The person who yelled at me for not replacing my shopping cart can keep their opinions to themselves. Grief doesn’t come with a visible marker; those carrying its weight don’t wear signs saying, “Be kind to me; my sister just died.” Grief has taught me to extend kindness more freely.
I’ve learned what not to say in situations where friends are grieving. Instead of asking, “How are you?” to someone who has just lost a parent, I opt for a more honest approach: “Death really sucks.” Because it does, and I desperately needed to hear those words in my own time of mourning. Grief has stripped away my social niceties and made me bolder.
Upon my father’s passing, I unwittingly became a member of a club I never wanted to join—the “I’ve Lost a Parent” club. Its members carry their pain with quiet dignity while juggling the demands of parenting and work. Those who have walked this path extend their hands to newcomers with a simple, “Me too.” I aim to emulate the friends who have shown me kindness and understanding during my turbulent journey.
You’ll never catch me saying, “He’s better off,” or “It was meant to be” to someone grappling with their grief. My experiences have taught me that sometimes just being there in silence, acknowledging the pain, is the most powerful support one can offer. Actions like managing carpool for a struggling friend or bringing a hot meal to her family can make a world of difference.
While I didn’t invite grief into my life, and witnessing my father’s decline was hellish, I wouldn’t trade my grief for anything. It has gifted me with the capacity to feel profoundly and authentically. Those raw emotions remind me that my father may be gone, but he lives on in my memories. Yes, death is painful, but through this intricate tapestry of sorrow and countless tears, I feel my father closer than ever.
So please, stop telling me to move on. I don’t want to.
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Summary
This article explores the profound and ongoing journey of grief after losing a parent, emphasizing that grief is not a process with a clear endpoint but a permanent part of life. The author reflects on how grief has shaped their empathy and understanding of others, while also urging society to stop pushing those in mourning to ‘get over it.’ The piece highlights the importance of kindness, support, and authentic connections in dealing with loss.