Mar 22, 20213 min read

Papa

I told my sister this week that I thought I might be done grieving our Dad, whom we called Papa. It’s been almost 10 years since he died and I felt confident in my exclamation to her when I said it. The waves that hit over and over had begun to lessen in their frequency and intensity, so I thought I was at least done with the hardest part.

Well, today I burst into tears at my chiropractor appointment. He has grey hair, is extremely wise and very kind to me. And he has dad hands that gently patted my shoulder. We’ve met weekly now for months and he is one of the people who has helped me the most on my healing journey. His demeanor reminds me of one of my grandparents and he brings a fatherly presence I didn’t know I desperately needed. Until today.

As he adjusted my alignment, I asked him questions about: the meaning of life, what happens when you die, and other light subjects I like to bounce around frequently. My head was in his hands, awaiting the snap crackle and pop of the things. Without warning, the fear and sadness I thought I had healed streamed out of my eyes. I didn’t hold it back. I jokingly asked him if he's also a therapist and we decided to talk more next week. The appointment ended with a warm hug from the receptionist and a quiet cry in the restroom. It felt good to be real and I had deep compassion for the sweet woman crying in the mirror.

It was terrifying to lose Papa. I was 28 and hadn’t lost anyone so close to me and so unexpectedly until that point.

With a quick diagnosis of end-stage pancreatic cancer, the universe opened up and took him back. Just like that he was gone. And we, like anyone who has lost someone they loved, were left looking at each other. Unsure how to move forward with this new giant hole in our lives. And it brought me face-to-face with the fact that I will someday also leave my children with a giant hole in their lives.

The best way I can describe it is this:

It was as if one of the bookends of my life was suddenly removed. Someone who had always been there in all of the times was no longer there. Someone who’s presence I had pushed against to declare my independence. Who gave structure to my life’s architecture. Who helped me define who I was, was gone. It is a profound experience and one I know I will have at least once more.

How do you move through this? I learned birthing my son that the only way out is through. And so much is learned in the process. But does it ever hurt.

The waves of grief are less frequent these past couple of years. Holidays feel oddly normal having done so many without him now. But buried deep in my heart is a small child who misses her dad. Who longs to introduce him to who I am now and show him the beautiful life I have created with my family. To laugh at his recycled old jokes and have him teach my kids how to fish or fix something in the barn. To smell his cigar on the boat as we cruise the lake at sunset.

My Father-in-Law stopped by tonight, donning his cowboy hat and big smile, smelling of freshly laundered clothes. I appreciated him more than ever and paid extra attention to the delight that reflected from my children's eyes while they listened to him sing his auctioneer song.

As complex as family relationships can be, I still love and miss my dad and am grateful for the years we had together. Here is one of my favorite quotes that comes to mind: