March 14th, 1996.
That date changed my life forever. This year marks the 18th anniversary of that date.
I can remember details as if it happened
yesterday. I can remember everything
that happened to me, and I can visualize the details I read on paper, and heard
in second, third, fifth hand accounts.
You see, it was an early misty Thursday morning, still dark
outside. The sun was just about to break
the seal on the horizon and provide light. The streets were wet from rain the night before. A man was doing what he'd done thousands of
times before: he was going to work. That morning, fate, kismet, blind horrible
random luck was against him. In less
than five seconds, the man who gave the greatest hugs and had carpenter hands,
changed and became something else. He
became a memory.
My father was a beautifully flawed, amazing human being. He knew he was flawed, and that knowledge made
him both humble and hilarious. On March
14th, 1996, he was in a car accident that resulted in his death a few hours
later.
According to the DSM IV, grief that lasts longer than six
months can be a disorder. There are other guidelines to be sure. For example, females are more prone to it. The point I wanted to make is to say that I
somewhat feel that "Complicated Grief Disorder" is in itself
complicated. Grief is not like your
average emotion. The greatest lesson I
have learned in my life with grief is that it has no shape; it's fluid and ever
changing. How I handle my grief today is
not how I may handle it tomorrow or next week.
It makes me sad when people say to someone else, or even to
themselves, that they "need to get over it." They treat it as if it was a flu or head cold.
I can just rest and this grief will go. We by our very nature are here to love and be
loved. When we lose someone we love, I
think it is very natural to grieve. Always.
Perhaps the disorder is that you can't
function and it triggers depression. I
think grief is something that seasons your soul and you carry it with you
always.
I was 18 years old when I lost my dad. I was 27 years old when I lost my mom. I remember the deaths of both my grandmothers,
and while I was sad for that, it was nowhere near the grief I felt when I lost
my parents.
On Friday, it will be the last day that I had my dad alive
longer than he has been dead. This
anniversary has been terribly hard on me. I can't help but feel like I am losing a part
of him again. I still remember how his
hands looked, his mannerisms, his laughter, and how he could roll the R in my
name for three minutes. I can't remember
the exact shade of blue of his eyes. I
can't tell you exactly what voice he used when he was making my favorite stuff
animal talk. I don't remember so many
details. I fear that I lose a detail of
him every day.
When you know someone who has lost someone, never assume
that they are experiencing the same level of grief that you are. I know how it feels to lose my parents, but I
look at my son playing around right now and I get sick thinking of the grief of
losing a child.
This year is filled with fresh grief, and panic. Time doesn't really remove grief. It certainly doesn't heal it; you just get
better with living with it. I hate this
anniversary. I miss him more than ever. I want him back and I want to watch him play
with his grandchildren he never got to meet. No I don't think it was his time, and no I
don't think heaven needed any angels. I
think it was random and horrible and I feel the rage still that I adopted that
day. It is now as much a part of me as
the birthmark on my elbow and my love of the color yellow.
In the grief I move forward. I laugh, I play with my son. I look forward to my future. I will always carry my grief of losing my
parents, and I will always feel a pang when I see a dad walk his daughter down
the aisle or a mom and daughter getting a mani/pedi together. I choose to not let it define me. It is a part of me, but not what I am made
of.
