A lot of people say to me “you’re so brave, for having lost your Dad and doing x and y and z” or the revised version of simply, “You’re so brave.”
I can listen to people talk about their dad, or cancer, or tumours, I can go into a hospital, a ward, a hospice. I can talk about death and chemotherapy and grief. But that doesn’t make me brave, or feel brave. It usually makes me feel torn. Between what I wish I could say and do, and what I have to do, which is say and do nothing. Blend in.
In six years I’ve only felt brave a handful of times.
I’ve cried more times in the past six years than I care to remember. Mainly as I sometimes can’t control it, it overflows and sneaks out. But most of the time I can now.
Thankfully I read this article tonight that reminded me that I’m normal. That I’m doing just fine.
It’s still hard. I still cry, but for different reasons now… I feel happy. I feel scared that something terrible will follow. I feel as though my life with my Dad was a lifetime ago. I feel as though who I was at 16 and who I am now are two entirely different people. My Dad doesn’t know me now, he’s missing out. I need his advice. I know he’d say something funny. His favourite song is on the radio.
I still have to deal with it, as there is usually something that reminds me of him. It’s inescapable.
I’ve dealt with it, it just doesn’t go away, and I sometimes forget that it can’t ever go away. It just evolves.
It’s part of me that’s along for the ride, and while you may not see it – it’s not my most flattering side the snotty tears – (I might seem brave) I’m just enjoying my life, going on my adventures, and trying to improve each day, while I live with a loss.