This coming year, 2012, marks the 25th year of my fathers passing. Interestingly, it is also the year I turn 36, the same age he was when he died.
I want to write a post that can highlight the difference his passing has made in my life. I was only 11 years old when he left. For many years I would view his passing as the time away he had spent from me, my two sisters and my mom. For the longest time I would count how many objects, whether they were tangible things or the people in our life, that were also around when he was alive. And although the things, and unfortunately, the people dwindled in numbers as the years past, his absence was never forgotten.
They say the way someone dies is a crucial factor in understanding the way people mourn a loss. They also say that the hardest losses to endure are those of first and foremost a child, then a parent, and lastly a spouse. Well, in my fathers case and because he was so young, we, as a family mourned heavily as he was a young father, son, and husband.
As the years pass, I think I will always feel like a part of me aches and like a part of me will always feel like I am missing something…someone. The times in my life that have been the hardest living without my father for so long have always been pivotal moments in my life, like: graduating from high school and college, getting married, and most recently having a baby.
During these past 25 years, he has missed a lot, a lot I think he would be proud of, but the truth is…he has still spent a lot of time away from us. About once a year I dream that he and I are sitting in front of each other. I am trying to catch him up on every little detail about my life and my sisters lives, and although it is nice to think that through dreams those who have passed away may be the way they communicate with those of us who are still living, the time we lost can be hard to compromise….
As I write and reread this post I realize that there is probably not enough space to describe how his absence has left a huge impression in my life, so I’ll stop here.