three weeks without my dad
Grief insomnia has stolen my nights. I wake up alert at around 3 AM, with maybe a handful hours of sleep.
I might as well return back to my daily blogging endeavors, to not only document my journey, but to process it aloud. Because for some reason, sometimes something doesn't feel as real until I've written about it.
It's been 3 weeks since my dad passed now. His death was sudden, a heart attack, but he was diagnosed with end stage renal disease in 2020 - kidney failure.
I stupidly believed the success of an acquaintance who had the same condition would repeat itself with my dad's condition.
This acquaintance had to endure dialysis sessions for about 8 years before he received a kidney transplant. After the surgery and adjustment period, his life expectancy extended and he returned to a decent "quality of life".
I prayed, and assumed, that my dad's path would be similar. I'm here writing about it because it most definitely was NOT. And the sudden nature of his death has left me in disbelief.
I don't want to believe he is dead. But spoiler alert: he is dead.
I know I traveled to the Philippines with my siblings, visited his wake multiple days, tended to his belongings and brought back important documents and sentimental items, attended his funeral and burial -- but I am barely able to accept the fact that he's gone.
My life is completely turned upside down and I now understand that there's no "getting over it". My only option is to move forward with the grief forever present. With his love and his light in my heart.
A quote I've been seeing a lot is, "grief is just love with nowhere to go".
While that doesn't neatly capture the devastation of shattered dreams of a future together, or how my identity has changed in the very instant I learned of his passing, or the agony of unspoken words and its lack of closure -- I am determined to embody my dad's unconditional love for me -- and mine for his -- to the best of my ability.
He was a very kind and generous person. In a world that was unkind and cruel to him, he didn't let that break him or prevent him from showing up as my dad or from trying to befriend a stranger. His quiet strength is something I admire, especially after better understanding what he endured in silence after his death.
I am my father's daughter, and I want to carry his torch and let his light shine wherever I go. And my heart swells at this notion, because of course I will do this. I'll gladly and proudly do that for the rest of my life. In fact, if I have the privilege to live longer and age, I will have to help carry the torch for other loved ones as well.
These are several gifts my dad's departure has left me -- the gift of confronting and respecting mortality, of the importance of being alive and present with the ones you love, and of doing what you can and what you must while you still breathe. I know as I continue walking through this grief portal, there will be more gifts and gems to discover.
I'm not trying to minimize grief and his death into a list of the "good and bad". I'm holding onto hope on what seems like a hopeless place for me right now.
Dad, you asked us to forgive you if you failed in any way. There is nothing to forgive. We are all doing the best we can with what we have and what we know at the time. That's all we can do, and you did wonderfully. Part of me wants to ask for your forgiveness if I failed you in any way as your daughter, but I know better. I know you love me with your whole heart and the peace of knowing that is priceless.
I really miss you, Dad. I really look forward to when I see you again.
Thanks for being here.
Write back soon.
Sincerely,
Nadine ♥