My father died suddenly almost 56 ago. He was 56 when he died, and he would have been 112 years old today if he were still alive. I have been a therapist in private practice for 35 years.  One of my specialties is grief therapy. I wonder how that happened. 

I seem to miss him more as time goes on. This is contrary to what the stages of grief will tell you; that one day we will reach the acceptance stage, where the curtain closes, and we will be at peace for eternity. This hasn’t seemed to work in this manner for me. I realize I not only miss him more each day, but, with each day it also becomes clearer as to what I have lost. 

My father died when I was fifteen. Like most fifteen-year olds, I didn’t know much even though I believed I knew everything. I didn’t know that I would need my dad to provide direction, comfort, and solace for me. I didn’t know that I would need him to help teach me to have good self-esteem and develop burning self-confidence.

I never had a conversation with my dad about any of these things. I spent much of my life in a state of uncertainty; a state that is now triggered several times a day during this covid pandemic period. Waking up in the morning not knowing if we are going to be struck down by this virus; smothered by wildfires due to climate change; unable to determine whether or not our present form of democracy is coming to an end; or if we can even afford to put gasoline in our cars.

I don’t remember my dad telling me that everything was going to be alright. Maybe he knew that wouldn’t be true in my case. I see boys and their dads. I want to tell them to not take anything for granted because their lives could change forever without notice. That knowledge frequently puts me on the hot rails of anxiety. And this pandemic stuff rolls into the loss of my dad and makes me want to holler and scream.

This intense experience of his loss doesn’t feel like stuck grief to me. It feels alive and as someone (me) once said: “Grief doesn’t end, it evolves”. My grief has moved on to the truth of his loss. I have had to learn how to love others and myself, through my own trial and error, without a dad’s guidance or reassurance. On the eve of the 56th anniversary of my dad’s death, I see the teenage me defying all that is around him.  He learned by burning bridges and rebelling against all who tried to tie him down. 

I hold the trauma of his loss and his love in my heart. One doesn’t outweigh the other. I honor both. I am grateful to have found my soulmate and to have been married to her for over fifty years. I am so lucky to have many close friends and family.  I am fortunate to be able to run twenty-five miles a week, play guitar, drums, sing and help others through my psychotherapy practice. I celebrate all the happiness and loss in my life. Those I have lost live in my soul and I honor them with tears and happiness. Joy shines down upon me.