Losing Dad

The following message was originally posted to our blog at www.seniors-stayathome.com:

We all know that we will lose our parents one day.  We might even know that their passing is a blessing: no more suffering, no more sadness, no more struggle with disease or pain.  But no matter how much we know that day is coming and feel like we are ready, the impact is always tremendous.

This past October, my 93 year-old father died from a sudden bout of pneumonia. Despite the fact that we buried him more than a month ago, it feels like only yesterday.  Why couldn’t he be with us for one more Thanksgiving?  One more Christmas?  One more birthday, his 94th?  In my mind I know he is no longer suffering. But my heart misses him more than I can say and more than I can stand.

Now my sister and I are telling ourselves the same things we tell our clients when a parent dies: There is no set-in-stone timetable for mourning; give yourself permission to grieve as long as you need to.  You can leave your parent’s belongings right where they are until you are truly ready to handle the process of organizing, cleaning out drawers and closets, and giving things away.

Supportive friends, family, and community resources can help you grieve at your own pace. If your parent was on hospice, you can get emotional support from the hospice or your personal clergy.

I find comfort in my memories. I’ll always remember how Dad used to delight us with his animated stories of military service in World War II. I’ll never forget the way he would light up light a child every evening when he got his ice cream treat. Remembering those moments brings a smile to my face. But the memories are bittersweet: He won’t be telling those stories anymore.  He will never again ask for more ice cream. Nevertheless, he is always with me in my thoughts.

Talk about your parent; tell their stories. Your parent may not be physically living, but you can keep him or her alive in your memory. Dad can’t tell me any more stories about World War II, but when I find myself sharing them, I feel like I am honoring his memory and healing myself at the same time.  I may not have another Christmas with him, but this Christmas I will be telling his stories, just like he used to do; I will be making someone smile just like he would be doing. And I will keep doing that to feel close to him, because when I tell his stories, it feels like he is still right there with me.

Lori Holmgren RN, MSN