Some days, even some weeks, it hits harder that Dad is gone. Mainly, I find myself feeling bad for my Dad for dying. I hate that he had to suffer through his sickness and feel himself slipping away, but even beyond that, I feel bad that he’s dead, as if he would be capable of feeling my empathy or something. It’s strange, isn’t it?
It’s like how I found myself wanting to still pray for him in the days and weeks after he was gone. I guess you get into a habit of breathing prayer for someone who is sick. Then when they’re suddenly taken away from you, your mind still dwells on them, but you can’t tangibly do anything about it, like prayer.
Truth is, if what we believe and hope is coming after this life, there’s no reason for feelings of sympathy toward the deceased, just feelings of loss and sadness that they’re not here with you. I have those, too.
The other day Madilyn pointed to the picture we have in her room of her and her “Poppy,” which is what we called Dad for her. And it made me glad that she noticed him, and sad that she won’t remember him.
Hey Cara,
A dear friend of mine recently lost her mother to cancer, as well. Although I was in Ireland when it happened and we’ve been apart ever since, she’s shared some of those same thoughts and feelings with me over email. Sara has three little girls and is giving birth to a little boy at any moment and she shared with me how inconceivable the thought is that they will never know their grandmother. What I told her, and what I hope brings you some comfort as well, is that Sara’s kids will know her mom because the mom she is to those children all came from her.
Your dad sounded like a WONDERFUL man and part of who you are as a parent to Madilyn is all due to him. She’ll see him in you, and in Jeff, and in your mother, as well. I know we’ve never met in real life, but I’m praying for you, that God – in those breathless, truly heartbreaking moments – that He would be tangible to you, that you would be overwhelmed with peace, that there would be no doubt in your mind that He was with you, every hour of every day, knowing that those moments will come, and still He will be there…
Also, I love your blog! Keep writing when you can! Best therapy around.
I’m so sorry. My mom died when I was 17. Owen has asked lots of questions about her since he turned 4, and funny thing is he prays for her at night.
Wish i had more eloquent words for you… but I just said a prayer for you instead.