On the Eve of the Second Anniversary of Dad's Passing

F. David Alger
Nov 9, 1947 - Apr 16, 2012

Two years have passed since I lost my Dad.  Two years.  Wow, that's strange to say.  In some ways it feels like he's been gone a lot longer and in other ways it seems like only yesterday. There are days when I couldn't shed a tear if I tried to and there are days when the pain is still raw. 
                                          
My Dad sure wasn't perfect and he was the first to admit it. There were times when he infuriated and frustrated me and times when he disappointed me. But there were also lots of funny, happy times and the thing I never doubted was his love for his kids and grand-kids and how fiercely proud of us he was.  Sometimes the way he would brag about us made me wonder if he was looking at us through rose coloured glasses :)

I miss Dad terribly and I have regrets.  Things I should or shouldn't have said, times I should have invited him over, times I should have called.  He didn't even get to be a senior citizen and he's missing seeing my children grow up.  He is missing Rob Ford's antics and he doesn't know that Brayden has tattoos (wait, maybe he wouldn't want to know those things...).  It all really sucks.

But the last thing Dad would want would be to see us cry. He'd want us to laugh, celebrate, succeed and be happy.  His death changed me and not for the good...yet.  I'm trying and I think I'll get there. 

Me and Dad on my wedding day
October 31, 2010

Not only does this week mark the two year anniversary of his passing but it's also the last days of my 30's.   *GULP*.  There are lots of things I've learned in my almost 40 years but there is also a lot I still need to learn and many things I need to change.  I plan to work on those changes and make my 40's the best decade yet - for Dad, but more importantly for my husband, my children and for ME.

If you are lucky enough to still have one or both of your parents living, hug them, appreciate them and be kind to them.         
                
I miss you Dad and tomorrow on what we've coined, "Dad Day", I will think of you and your wild stories, booming laugh and big heart with immeasurable love.

Dad and Oliver
February 2012 

Countdown

Twelve days to go. Twelve days until the anniversary of the day when grief struck like I never knew it could.  Twelve days until I relive that day and what I felt.

April 16, 2012 was a very sunny, unusually warm day; shorts and sandals weather.  I was at home with Oliver because I was on maternity leave.  At about 3:00 p.m. my cell phone rang and on the display was a recruiting firm from Kitchener.  I didn’t answer because I initially thought it was a wrong number. 

After I thought about it for a bit, I realized my cousin, Kevin, worked for a recruiter and that maybe it was him calling. We had been exchanging emails about some baby furniture he was looking to pass on. I checked my voice mail and Kevin had left a message to urgently call him.  My heart raced and a sense of panic overwhelmed me. I called him back and he told me he had a message for me to call Dr. Blank (can’t remember his name) at St. Mary’s hospital in Kitchener.  He said, “Jen, I’m sorry, but expect the worst”. 

I frantically dialed my sister, Bev’s number and all I can remember asking is, “Did he die? Did he die?” to which she responded, yes.  She had received the same call from Kevin and had spoken to the doctor already.  From there it’s a bit of a blur.  I know that Brayden had come home from school at some point and I started to cry out for him.  I needed him to take Oliver while I crouched on the floor crying and shouting, “No, No, No!”  I also somehow called my husband and my mom and shortly after Bev and Luigi arrived at my house. 

Luigi drove Bev and I and Brayden to the hospital in Kitchener so that we could see Dad one last time and make arrangements.  I’ll never forget walking into the room where he lay.  I relive that moment almost daily. It looked like he was sleeping, but he wasn’t.  He was lifeless.  His skin was grey.  He was cold to the touch.  But he was my Dad so I hugged him and kissed his cold forehead and sobbed.  From there, this happened.

That was a Monday.  The rest of the week was a blur and was very overwhelming.   Time flew by and stood still all at once.  Funeral arrangements, phone calls, emails, etc. filled my days.  My sleep was filled with dreams of Dad.  My waking hours were filled with thoughts of Dad. 

And then it was my birthday that Thursday, April 19th.  I received sympathy cards instead of birthday cards.  I shopped for an outfit to wear to a funeral instead of to wear to a birthday celebration.  I was angry at Dad for ruining my birthday, but at the same time grateful that he had sent a card and gift ahead of time that I had already received.  That was so unlike him; he usually had to ask Bev when my birthday was and was rarely on time with wishes and cards.  Maybe he knew…

This year as the first anniversary of Dad’s passing approaches I’m feeling anxious, sad and, I don’t know, weird, I guess.  I am determined, however, to have a good birthday. I am taking the day off and treating myself to a pedicure and a great big cupcake.  I’m going to do what I want to do and thoroughly enjoy the day.  I know Dad would want it that way. 

Choking

I feel like I’m choking.  Quite literally.  I have a lump in my throat and I feel like there’s a weight sitting on my chest. I can’t catch my breath sometimes and the tears pour from my eyes without warning.  

 I want to be alone and I want to be surrounded by friends and family. 

 I want to be hugged tight and then I want to curl up in a ball by myself and cry. 

I feel numb and like I have no feelings one minute and overwhelmed by so many feelings the next that I am dizzy.  

 An ashram in India alone sounds good and so does a family vacation filled with activity and laughter.  

I am riddled with guilt and regrets at times then peaceful that things are as they should be at others.   

I rejoice in the small things like the sound of O’s laugh and then sweat the small things such as  cooking dinner like it’s the most complicated thing in the world.  

 I have feelings of panic about losing others that I love and about leaving my children behind myself. 

This is grief, I guess.