my dad died before i could yell at him
I would literally do anything to not have to go into work.
That was one of my last thoughts before my mom walked into my room and told me my dad had died. (Uh, be careful what you wish for???) Well, she didn’t really tell me, she started by saying, “Your dad…” and I just knew.
It’s a weird feeling to grapple with. I was 18, had just started my first semester of college, and, candidly, I did not like my dad. Just days prior, I was about to walk into class and was irritated that he had simply called me. I remember looking back at my call log after he died—the call lasted about 30 seconds.
It was an even weirder feeling when my brother and I had to legally plan the funeral. At 18, I was next of kin. Ironically, a month prior to his death, he had gotten divorced. I was in a stuffy room being asked if I wanted any of his teeth. Do you want a lock of his hair? Do you want to go see him one last time?
No, no, and no.
I was so confused that the rest of the world didn’t stop. Yeah, my friends were checking in on me but why weren’t they at my doorstep daily? Why are you happy right now? Why is this happening to me? How is everyone in the world acting so normal? My parent just died!
But, as it turns out, the world doesn’t stop spinning on account of you. The world doesn’t fall apart, and the days move on, not waiting for you. The days passing eventually brought me his official cause of death.
I was mad.
How do you cause all this anger throughout my life—and then die? Suddenly? What about my sibling who hasn’t even graduated high school? What about my other sibling, who was essentially your best friend? How do you hold space for understanding that you just lost a dad, someone lost a son, a brother, a friend but you also want to yell at someone who isn’t there to be on the receiving end of it? Anger flooded through me as I sat at the bottom step of the stairs when my mom told me.
For the first few years, I made jokes about his death constantly. Any opportunity to make a dead dad joke, I was there. It was far more comfortable for me to do that than appear even misty-eyed in front of my friends. A few years later, I saw how his actions prior to his passing still damaged people. Anything about him wasn’t so funny anymore.
While I learned so much about grief, grace, and understanding from all of this, I know that some of my resentment, and the strain it created in our relationship, was valid. He could be goofy, but he could be very explosive. He could be charming, but he could also be mean. I had a complicated relationship with my dad, and he was a complicated person. Sometimes, I’m still mad to this day for a vast number of reasons that could fill a swimming pool.
I let myself feel that, but I let it go. Sometimes by way of writing this in my notes, all at 11 p.m. on a Thursday.
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