How I'm processing the loss of my father - pt. 1

Dad

I was at a party the night of July 4th last year, in full swing, it was maybe 1130. A call for my mom shows when I get out of the bathroom. A call from your mom at 1130 is always scary because it might be the call you never want to get. It was that call. I stepped into the stairwell. And she’s crying. She says your dad shot himself. In confusion in denial - i asked on purpose?! As if it could have been some sort of accident where he shot himself in the foot. That goes to show just how much we can not want something to happen. She says yes, on purpose - and i guess i ask if he’s dead - like i still can’t fucking believe it. I’m crying hysterically. She says the police just left. I feel like im still waiting to hear more information - like he’s gonna make it out alive or some shit. Someone comes in the stairwell and asks:

is everything is okay? - i say no - it’s not okay

- and i dont have any more words. 

I go upstairs - i walk up to the party and im clearly just crying my eyes out - i can’t find will anywhere - i eventually call him and tell him what happened - we leave immediately - but after confusing everyone at the party what was going on but i can’t even really stand to speak. Will offers to walk me to the train - i don't remember what we talked about - i dont feel like it was a lot - i was in shock - no idea how or what to process - we walk to the train - he decides to board with me all  the way to my house - the opposite direction of his. We get to mine and he offers to come in and stay - but i really dont know what to talk about - and i think i did want a few moments to just be alone and cry. 

I debate whether it’s worth sharing the full story here, but at the end of the day, he would’ve encouraged me to speak openly. No one wants to write this blog post. These things are usually kept to ourselves, but that’s the point of this journal. A place for me to not overthink, or worry about the judgements in the atmosphere, and hopefully along the way, I’m able to share myself with you, combine my public and private self, and help you wherever it applies. If you struggle with suicide or depression - help is always an option: https://twloha.com/find-help/24-hour-helplines/

I text / call my therapist - he says hell call me in a few - he does - I text the men’s group im in - and a guy from there calls me - I call my girlfriend at the time at least like 20 times to wake her up - she eventually wakes up and comes over and holds me - the next day is hard - I’m telling everyone the news via text because I can’t stand to stomach mouthing the words over and over. My dad shot himself. Fuck. Every time you tell someone - it’s like you’re hearing it for the first time - because of their reaction, their emotional waves go out and they reflect right back into you. That was the hardest day for sure. 

I book a flight home the next day. They say crying on planes is a thing, but this was the next level. I decided to write a Facebook post - which became the eulogy I gave at my dad’s funeral. I’m I get to my layover - I think it was in Dallas. I go to a TGI fucking Fridays and rip a margarita. I resist at first because I know that my dad used alcohol to cope back in the day. And if it led to this point, I should prbl watch out for my shit. I order a second. I hop on the plane and continue to write - it’s late I think i’m getting in around 12 because most of the restaurants in the airport were closing. I get home - and I really don’t remember - my childhood best friend Kyler picked me up - we chat through it,. I don’t really remember what happens when I get home. The whole week is a blur - I don't really work - I don't do much of anything except help plan the funeral, sort the food - to try to figure out when my brother gets in. 

The phases of my emotion

Phase 1: shock and awe 

The stairwell, trying to find my friend at the party, the empty train ride home, the utter disbelief. Why? Was it actually on purpose? Was he drunk? Was it the medication? Was he in a brain fog? We wanted to believe it was the meds, and it may have been, we’ll never fully know. I remember being so confused and so hurt. Like the wind knocked out of me. It's like we were waiting for answers. It was some of the deepest pain i’ve ever experienced. 

Phase 2 (day 2): tears

Utter sadness. This is where i had to tell all my friends. Public knowledge - you have people that reach out to make you feel good and I'm glad that people care but it is a bit bombarding of reminders and makes you feel sad constantly. 

Phase 3 (day 3-9): radical acceptance

This wasn’t a way to ignore my sadness. But I had to accept what happened, that there was nothing that I could do about it, to change about it, to change about the way that it happened. My dad killed himself, and I have to make peace with that, and I did. It’s a muscle that can be used in a lot of areas - so I became really accepting and almost numb to everything around me like suddenly nothing really mattered all that much. 

Phase 4 (day 3-9): funeral anticipation

I kept thinking I had all this bottled-up emotion and pain and at the funeral, it would be a complete and total overflow of tears and sadness - but I think I had already spent so much god damn time thinking about it constantly that there really wasn’t some new threshold. I was sad for sure. Seeing everyone there was sad - and just being at your dad’s funeral, in general, is maybe one of the saddest things I’ll ever experience. 

Phase 5: the after fog

I came back - and felt normal for a bit - and then after a few weeks passed - i realized i just have this looming ‘what-the-fuck-ness’. It’s sadness, it’s just like this glaring big gap in my life and heart. I’m not thinking about it every day - but i see it in my actions - like shit just doesn’t feel normal - it’s really hard to identify - but it’s there. So that’s where I’m at,. I’ve mourned it, i’ve accepted it, I’ve shared it, I’ve moved on with my life, but I’m always gonna miss my dad - I’m gonna think of him when I have those present moments I wish he was there for, I’m gonna hear his advice when I’m not sure what to do, I’m gonna tell his stories and steal his jokes, im gonna miss you, dad. 

Processing

There’s nothing I can do about this situation, I can’t change it, I couldn’t have changed it, I shouldn’t feel guilty, - what I can do is: appreciate my dad, love my family, and listen to my feelings.

Over the next week, we all tried to solve the mystery and that eternal question: why? What we’ve gathered from the surface was that he believed he was coming down with Alzheimer's Disease. The day before it all, he had texted my brother and sister, and me an article about the impact that disease has on the victim’s loved ones. He had recently started a new medication called Wellbutrin, which is known to have side effects of suicide and paranoia. We’ll never really know the full story, but I do know that he loved us, was proud of us, and was proud of the life he lived and I don’t think he could bear to watch that change (conscious or not). 

One thing that really helped me when I was processing was to compare it to other long-distance relationships. For example: Let’s say my best friend Tim - who lives in Florida - who I haven’t spoken to in days - is still the same Tim in my head, nothing’s changed. I think this is because so many of our relationships are rooted in past experiences - that’s maybe 80%. The times you’ve had together, the relationship you’ve built. 10% is the present moment - getting to sit across from them at the table, hear their jokes, and listen to their pain. The other 10% is the promise of future present moments. Obviously, this is a spectrum and changes over the course of our lives. But it helped me to realize that my dad is still the same dad he was in my mind 2 weeks before he died - the memories, the lessons, what he represented for me. I just don’t get any more present moments.  

He won’t see my kids, or the love of my life, I won't get to call him for advice or hear his stories. I had been encouraging him to write his memoir. He did a little bit of it. I told him I would even just record him and transpose it. I should've fucking done that - I'm so mad I didn't - but I guess it’d be a lot harder to get past it.

He did tell me I should write more, I wonder if my writing gave him happiness, or maybe it was his way of knowing mine.

Either way - I’m okay.

I still struggle here and there, the after fog comes back and I feel numb. It’s been a fruitful year in so many ways, but with higher highs and lower lows. I’ll continue to share my process over the coming weeks - the majority of this excerpt is from last September, so we have some catching up to do.