The Grief I Carry After My Father's Death


Grief, I believe, is one of those things often misrepresented and misunderstood. To me it’s understandable because unless one has grieved, one cannot possibly begin to understand grief.

When someone is grieving, they are trying to heal. They are trying to remember someone they loved while also trying to move forward in life. Grief is hard work.

How does one recover from losing someone who meant so much to them? The short answer is they don’t. One never really recovers from the loss of someone they loved, they just learn to live with it.

I lost my dad when I was 15 years old, the only thing I can say somewhat confidently about his death is I will never stop grieving it until the day I die.

To grieve is to have loved, and to have loved is to have lived. I wish someone told me that when my dad died. I wish someone told me it was OK to cry, that it was OK to be sad. I’m almost 20 years old now, and I’m still sad about it. I’m not only sad about it, but I’m angry. I’m angry my kids won’t get to see their grandpa and my dad won’t be at my wedding.

I can deal with anger and sadness, and I trust they will subside sometime soon. But until the day comes when I believe I will be reunited with my dad, I will grieve. I will always miss him and wonder what life would be like with him in the picture. I look forward to that day and trust there will be plenty to say.

Until then, the journey continues toward trying to live a life my dad would be proud of.

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