Learning to lament for my dad

My dad died seven months ago. And on the outside, I have carried on pretty much as normal. I have still not cried a single tear (which actually isn’t normal at all – even for me).

But I know that this has changed me.

I entered into the Book of Lamentations with the intention of learning to lament. I wanted the opportunity and space to grieve. Because yes, my dad was old and my dad was suffering and yes, this was the best thing for him but THIS WAS MY DAD and my dad has gone and that’s just not right!

I wanted to finds ways to process this massive shift in my world, but you know what? I’m still not ready. I’m still at the denial stage. I still cannot believe this has actually happened. That he has actually gone. This just feels like a really long time between visits and phone calls. A really, really long time.

I am strong. I know how to keep going. To push through. I kept going til after the funeral. I kept going until after we cleared the house. I kept going until the house was sold and the legal stuff all sorted out. And now I am keeping going until we get the headstone engraved and put in place. There’s always the next thing to keep going for.

Each stage has seemed absolutely horrific. My dad suffering and afraid in hospital. My dad not being my dad. My dad dying as I was driving away from being with him. Putting together a service that my dad had already prepared. Clearing out all the belongings of this special man’s life. Knowing that his house is no longer his house. Receiving an inheritance that I know would have given him so much pleasure for me to have and yet I still don’t want anything to do with it. It has come because he is not here.

This is all so wrong. This is not how things should be. My dad should be here. I know I’m 50, but there are still young vulnerable bits inside me that need a parent. I have no parents. That is just wrong.

After the Great North Run, I needed to ring my dad. Like on so many occasions, I needed to tell him all the details and know that he would be interested. No one is interested like he was interested. I feel adrift. Like no one actually cares in the way my dad used to care.

Because I am strong and determined, maybe I will stay in this denial stage for a very, very long time. I’m stuck here. I’ve tried this month to give myself space. For what? To break down? To feel the pain? I’ve worked through lots of areas in my life and come to a greater clarity. I understand myself and what I’m doing a whole lot better. But I’ve come to realise I can’t force anything.

My survival instinct is strong. The greatest difference in my life since my dad died is that I have embraced life and its opportunities even more than I was doing before. I am driven by that sense that life is short. That I need to seize every opportunity with both hands. I’m doing loads and loads and loads of great stuff. On many levels, I’m having the time of my life.

And I know it’s not sustainable. I know my mind is exhausted from keeping all the balls in the air. My body is exhausted from all that I’m demanding from it. I’m moving through to a place of greater understanding of myself and my loss and my pain. I am learning.

I am drawn to expressions of lament. They fascinate me. The images of art work I’ve been using this month. The experience of dance. The new composers I’ve discovered. It’s all good.

And this Book of Lamentations has helped enormously too. It’s pushed me to explore dark corners I was avoiding. It’s shone a light on pain.

I love my dad. I’m not ready to accept that he is gone.

But even admitting to that is progress.

It’s going to be a long, long journey.