Grief for my father

The phone rings at 1:23 in the morning and I am lost in sleep. Realizing the ring is not in my dream I sit straight up in bed and attempt to rejoin reality. Heart pounding, I reach for the phone and quickly say, "Hello!" On the other end of the line is my mother. Searching for air my mom speaks in broken sentences. "Your dad. In the hospital. He's not breathing." My fuzzy mind searches for words. "OK, OK," is all I can offer.

I hang up and look at my wife who knows before I say the words, "My dad is dying." Too numb to grieve, I begin to solve the problems before me. I email my boss then staff and explain I need to take a week off. I purchase a plane ticket and develop plans to head to my childhood home to support my family.

The phone rings again at 2:36 am. This time my sister is calling and asks, "We need to make the decision as a family to remove dad from life-support. His brain has no activity. What do you think?" Living a thousand miles away I feel helpless, unsure; unwilling to make the decision. I offer, "Whatever the family thinks is best," and hang up. Twenty minutes later I receive the news; my dad has passed away -now I grieve.

Unable to leave for a few days, I head to work, knowing I have only a few days to get things in order for my unanticipated time-off. I ask my staff to allow me to work and avoid talking about my dad's death so I can focus on my job. The staff is unbelievably kind and offer quick hugs, back-slaps and "I'm sorrys," respecting my need to remain focused.

Short walks, closing my office door and trips to the shelter of my car offer privacy in moments of uncontrollable sadness. Looking back, I wonder how I functioned during those incredibly difficult few days.

Let me tell you about my dad. Unable to offer financial stability for our family, my dad gave what he could. Fishing trips, hiking in the mountains, Boy Scout camping trips and John Denver sing-a-longs made my brother, sister, mom and me feel wealthy. When dad was working, he provided school clothes, trips to the city, Christmas presents and dinners at fancy restaurants. When dad was not working, we explored the woods, played in the park, fished the river and went for rides in our VW microbus. Dad provided what he could.

As I re-examine my childhood, I might choose to condemn my father for what he didn't give; stylish clothes, a pretty house, haircuts at a real barbershop. Instead I choose to remember my father for what he did give; a love for the forest, a chuckle at stupid jokes and the drive to make my life rewarding and purposeful.

As I look back at what my dad did provide for my family, I begin to grieve. I grieve that I won't be able to golf with him again. I grieve that we won't spend another Christmas together and I grieve that I won't hear his ridiculously silly jokes which make me roll my eyes in embarrassment for him.

"What is illegal? It's a sick bird," my dad responds expecting a giggle. When I call dad and ask, "How are you doing?" My dad responds, "I'm finer than frog fur." My dad believed he was the funniest man in the room.

The death of my father is much more debilitating on my mother than for me. She chose my father, lived with him for 50 years and committed her life to him. When he died, their marriage, her best friend, the father of her children and the Mister to her Misses died. She lost a part of who she is. My mom is grieving the death of my dad differently than I am. Everyone grieves differently.

Some believe if one does not grieve loudly and publicly, she must not be handling the death appropriately while others believe if one still grieves after a few months she should be medicated for depression. The truth lies in the individual. There is no right or wrong way to grieve.

Next week I examine the psychological need for grieving and process of grief and dying. We will also search for help for one who is struggling with the death of one they love.

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