I’ve managed to live this long – 58 years – still being someone else’s child.
I may be an adult child…but nonetheless, there’s something strangely comforting about being in your 50s and still having a mother and a father. And although I may be fooling myself, being someone else’s child makes me feel less like an adult in this so-called midlife, and more like a (somewhat) young thing.
For that, I count myself among the lucky ones. So many people I know have suffered the loss of a parent when they were in dire need of parenting themselves – as young children, as teenagers, as young adults. It never feels good, I know, to lose your parent. But I’ve always subscribed to the belief that it’s easier to lose a parent when you yourself are old enough to be a parent; when you have reached a point in life of relative stability. When you are “launched” and pretty much grounded in your own life and who you are.
Yet, as my father lies in hospice waiting to die, it occurs to me that despite the fact that he has lived a long life – he would have turned 91 this February – it’s still difficult to accept the loss. Despite the fact that he has lived long enough to gather a group of great-grandchildren I’m still not convinced it’s time. Despite the fact that I know damn well that this is the cycle of life, that he needs to make room for all the new lives that are coming into this world, that he has far exceeded his life expectancy, it’s hard to come to grips with losing my “daddy.” (Sounds rather childish, I know, but ever since he got ill, that’s what I reverted to calling him; perhaps more for my comfort than his own.)
No matter what their age, the loss of a parent is untimely. Or is it? It’s all a matter of perspective, I suppose. Do we all feel this way, I wonder? Is it selfish to want to hang onto them, despite their own wish for their life to end? Or if someone we love is suffering, do we instead wish them a rapid death?
Up until the end – which is likely any day or minute now – my dad was vital and strong with a memory that rivaled any 20-year old’s. When his quality of life was not what he wanted it to be – a virulent esophageal cancer made it all but impossible to eat or drink – he decided to call it quits.
And so, each day, as another part of his body begins to shut down, a part of myself goes along with him. Each time I visit, I say goodbye, thinking it will ease his passing for both of us, convinced it is the last goodbye.
“I’m sorry I never listened to you when you tried to teach me how to fix a car,” I said before I left his bedside yesterday. He smiled, weakly at first, then closed his eyes and looked thoughtful. Was he recalling our frequent trips to local junkyards to search for car parts? (One of his hobbies was re-building cars out of spare parts.) I willingly went along, most times, because I knew on the way home we’d stop at the bagel store to split a piping hot egg bagel, even though it was dinnertime.
And then – after a few moments passed, my eyes wet with tears – I spoke again; this time a bit more softly, yet with more urgency.
“Let go,” I said. “I want you to be at peace….but I’m really gonna miss you.”
I think I’m the one who has to let go.
Beth says
Beautifully written. I still “talk” to my Daddy every day, wherever he is.
SherylK says
Thanks, Beth. Good to know the conversations can still be had even though the person is no longer “here.”
Irene S. Levine says
My heart goes out to you. Memories like the one you shared will be yours forever. Take care of yourself. Love, Irene
Brette Sember says
So sorry for this Sheryl. It is nice of you to share it with others who will someday face the same or similar situation.
Kerry Dexter says
Sheryl,
perhaps your father was remembering sharing those egg bagels with you.
thinking of you, and your dad, as you go through this transition. there’s always more to learn, and more to love…and none of that stops with death. or grieving.
HeatherL says
You say it so well. My thoughts and prayers are with you at this most difficult time in your life.
Living Large says
This brought tears to my eyes. Anyone who has lost a parent to old age also has memories of these last visits with them. My heart goes out to you. Even as a mid-lifer, there are so many days I wish my parents were here, especially my mother, who continued to help me on my life journey after my dad passed when I was 17. Even in our 40s, both my husband and I felt so lost without her wisdom to guide us.
Alexandra says
So moving! Sorry you are losing your dad but how wonderful he is surrounded by family and has hospice as the end approaches. Your bagel story reminded me of my love for crumble crumb coffee cake, which comes from my dad’s bringing me pieces as a child after trips to the dentist. Losing a parent is so hard. When both my mom and my dad were gone, I understood what it feels like to be an orphan.
Alex says
This is beautifully said, Sheryl. I lost my beloved father quite suddenly long before I was ready, but I was in my 30s so not a child. It’s shattering. I envy your opportunity to say goodbye, but I know he was well assured of my love for him. I miss him every day.
SherylK says
Thanks, Alex. Sorry about your loss, too.
MyKidsEatSquid says
Sheryl–I’m so sorry. It’s been a wake up call to me this year that my parents are getting older, here I thought I was the only one.
ChristineGL says
I’m so, so sorry Sheryl. I’m so sad for you. I’m sure your dad feels how much you love him and that will help carry him gently through this journey.
merr says
It’s a total paradigm shift, right? I know, however, exactly what you are talking about.
Jane Boursaw says
Oh this makes me sad. And I’m so with you. My mom is 88 – still healthy – but I know that time is coming. And I just can’t bear it. Big HUGS to you.
SherylK says
Jane, Cherish the time you have with your mother. You are so lucky to have her, especially that she is 88 and still healthy!
Alisa Bowman says
Loss is hard, even when, as you said, it’s time and it makes sense and all that. We want to keep what we love, and it’s all such as mystery anyway. So sorry for your loss and sending you a giant hug.
ruth pennebaker says
Oh, Sheryl, so sorry. You’re never too old to feel orphaned, I think. Our parents’ deaths leave us lonely in a very new way; it’s the final step to becoming a true grownup — and it hurts.
Marcia says
Beautifully expressed, Sheryl. Brought tears to my eyes. I am so sorry for your loss. I just passed the 11th anniversary of my dad’s death at age 77. I still think of my parents often, and occasionally shed tears. It is difficult to lose a parent and even more difficult when you become an “orphan,” even if we are well into adulthood by then. Hang on to those memories of bagels and car parts and all the other good things.
Amy says
A beautifully written sentiment and now tribute to a very special father. It doesn’t matter how old we get or how many yearing go by without them…. we are always “daddy’s girls” . I will always remember the closeness you and your dad shared and how it contnued for the rest of his life. He was very lucky to have such a loving and caring daughter.
SherylK says
Thank you, Amy; and I was lucky to have him.
Rob says
My condolences for your loss Sheryl. Like many who posted, I lost my dad when I was a young adult, but not yet a dad (I was 31) and I always bemoaned him not having the chance to be a Grandpa…he would have been good at it. And perhaps, taught me how to be a better dad….he wasn’t great at it himself, but perhaps would have had more patience as a grandfather….And I did share the feeling of “orphan” when my mother then passed away about 15 years later. I’d never heard anyone else share that emotion, but I do remember sharing that with my wife…I wanted her to understand that, without feeling diminished, given she had been the main focus of my life for 20 years already…..anyway welll said. It’s a different perspective for me having never had the ‘time’ to say a goodbye…both my parents died almost instantly of heart attacks..a frequent ‘debate’ we have among our friends is which is the ‘better’ way to have this happen…long, slow and painful, or quick without warning. No winning side to that conversation. All the best for a restorative year….Rob K.
SherylK says
Hi Rob,
I’m so sorry about the loss of both your parents and that your dad was not able to meet his grandchildren and that you were not able to say your goodbyes. All tough stuff. I also have come to the conclusion that there is no “good” way to lose a parent. I have friends who lost their parents when they themselves were much younger than me. And for them, they didn’t have to see their parents ravaged by old age. But to see that is no treat either. Either way, it hurts. Thanks for your wishes; same to you.
Lise Fox says
You are in my prayers, your dad was a wonderful person.
Ann says
I lost my own dad in January; and I was the one who told him it was OK to go–even though I know I wasn’t ready. I still talk to him every afternoon, just like I did when he was still here, and sometimes I even think he answers me.
Saying good bye is never easy, and to say it’s just another part of life we all must go through doesn’t really help. But knowing that you’re not alone with your grief does.
Cathy Chester says
What a beautiful piece, Sheryl. Your dad must have been a wonderful man to have meant so much to you. I look forward to you telling me about his much-deserved burial at Arlington – he deserves the best. As do you.
I have to go grab another Kleenex now…