Dear Dad

letters to Doug

[foundincave]

Dear Dad #5

Hi Dad. I've been missing you a lot lately. School has been difficult and stressful, and I've gotten very depressed. Moments like this are when I would call you. But I can't call you anymore.

My grief lingers; looming near me as a churning, dull void. Sometimes it feels like I can't picture you clearly. When I say that I'm depressed because I miss you, that doesn't really capture it. My whole body grieves. Even when my mind is on other things or completely empty, my limbs feel heavy.

I've asked for extensions for certain classes. Some days, I skip class because I am too exhausted to get out of bed. I feel guilty for skipping class, but I know that if I go, I'll end up crying in the bathroom, or be so drained after class that I can't complete any work.

I don't know if I'm going to go home for Thanksgiving. It would be the first time I'm at the house since you passed. You passed away in your bedroom. Mom has left all your clothes and dresser knick-knacks as they were. I think it might be too much for me, especially since I have to come right back for finals.

Mom tells me that she wants to be here for me, but I feel so guilty that I can't stand on my own. I wanted to be strong for you. And now I am having a hard time just getting out of bed.

[foundincave]

Dear Dad #4

Dad, I've started attending Quaker meetings. I know it's not quite what you would hope, as you prefer that I attend an evangelical church, but I think you would accept me becoming a Quaker. Each time I attend the Friends meeting, I feel refreshed, like I can meet the day. That sense of euphoria doesn't last too long, though. I hope that with continued practice, I'll be able to better manage my emotions throughout the day so that I feel less stressed and sad.

During today's meeting, we sat outside. A lot of people attended today. We sat in a circle under these large trees, and while we worshipped in silence, the cicadas sang. It felt glorious. My mind wanders during the hour of worship. Today, in my worship, I kept returning to the word renewal. Yesterday, I felt like I was wading through a fog. When I got home, my room smelled like rotten eggs, and I realized that the large philodendron I'd been propagating had developed root rot. I took the plant outside and cut away the affected areas. It ended up being most of the root system, so I stuck the remaining plant in fresh water and have started propagating again. This action of tending to the plant was so simple yet it made me feel at peace for at least a moment. It was satisfying to be able to care for something. During the Quaker worship this morning, I thought of that plant and how it connected to how I felt during your end of life care. I saw an interview where the facilitator asked the interviewee if there was something in their life that felt like prayer. The interviewee talked about how caring for their sick mom felt like prayer; like a holy ritual. I see your last weeks in that way. It felt holy.

Love your daughter

[foundincave]

Dear Dad #3

Dad, I honestly feel very numb. I want to enjoy life and be present because I know that's what you would want for me. However, I think I am forever changed by your death. There was my life with you, and now there is my life without you.

I am grateful for Mom and Ben, but I am not near them. I am grateful for the city I live in, but I feel disconnected from it, like I am just a visitor. I am grateful for school and getting to learn new things, but I am overwhelmed by the amount of work and the hours I need to spend studying and making. I am grateful for my boyfriend, but I feel like I am distant from him even though I value our time together.

I was driving to work today, listening to the radio, and the radio host played a live clip of Jackson Browne playing "These Days." The minute he started to sing, I just bawled my eyes out, letting out vocal cries. I sang that song at your funeral, as you had requested. My love for you and my frustration with myself are tied up in that song.

I am trying to feel better. I will live for you, Dad.

[foundincave]

Dear Dad #2

I started my second year of grad school today. I had to sort out my loan payment at the financial aid office, and I sat in the waiting room for a bit as the office workers looked at my case. The financial aid office is located in the same building as the admissions office, and it just so happened that campus tours were being conducted. I watched as parents sat with their teenage children, looking through brochures and chatting about what they were going to eat for dinner. It reminded me of all the college visits we went on together.

I remember one time you and I drove to a small college three hours away from our house. We got to spend the whole day together. During the campus tour, you suddenly needed to go to the bathroom, and you wandered off to find a restroom without telling me. At one point, I looked behind me, and you were gone. I immediately felt a little panicked (and slightly embarrassed), but I continued with the tour. I don't remember if you caught up with the tour or if I found you later. I do remember that we walked through the college town. I think we stopped for something to eat.

You told me a few times that before you met Mom, you had come to accept the possibility that you would never have children. When you married Mom, you were almost 50. To see me apply to college and visit different campuses was the culmination of a dream that you never thought would come true for the majority of your life. Sometimes I wished that you had raised the bar for me; you loved me too much, too unconditionally. But of course, that was my brain keeping me from accepting the goodness in my life. I was happy to have you as my dad, and to make you proud just by existing. So I'll keep on existing for you.

Love you always,

Your daughter

[foundincave]

Dear Dad #1

I want to remember everything about you. Your full, beautiful life. I know I will get to those days of peaceful, loving remembrance. However, we're a month out from your passing, and right now I'm stuck remembering your time in hospice and the day you died.

You died in the evening. I was sitting beside you, as was Mom and Ben. Aunt C. and Aunt N. were sitting in the room as well. My therapist had told me that I would be able to see the moment your spirit/breath left your body. I don't think I caught it. Your breathing had grown so quiet and slow. While you died, Ben kept his hand on your heart. I think he was attempting to catch the moment as well.

You had been mostly sleeping the past couple of days. The breaths sometimes laboured, sometimes quiet. When you couldn't drink anymore, Aunt C. and I would wet small sponges on sticks and gently lay them on your tongue and against the walls of your mouth. I couldn't tell if you liked it or not. One of the most challenging parts was trying to anticipate your care because you couldn't answer back anymore. Sometimes you would say a faint hi. On your last day, I greeted you, and you opened your eyes slightly and said, "You're still here?" I said, "Yes, Dad, I'm here as long as you need me. I'm here until the end." And you said, "That's good." Or something like that. What I remember clearest is your "You're still here?" Were you in a state where you weren't quite sure whether you had passed or not? Maybe when you closed your eyes, you were between worlds, one foot in each plane of reality.

That's all I have to say for now.

Love you