The death of my dad: twenty five years on

This week marks twenty five years since the death of my dad. It’s a bit of an odd time of year, if I’m honest, because my dad died two days before my first birthday so going from two extreme moods in such a short space of time always messes with my head a bit.

Something I’m asked quite often is if i miss my dad. It’s a hard question to answer because it’s difficult to miss something or someone you don’t know. I don’t have any memories of my dad, although we is talked about openly by family and friends. At times, I miss the idea of having a dad and I miss the idea of having a more conventional childhood. But realistically, the conventional childhood of two parents and 2.4 children is becoming less common and “normal”.

As a child, I can remember times when I was embarrassed by the fact that my dad wasn’t alive. That might sound odd, I think it was linked to not wanting people to feel sorry for me. When I was in year three, my class teacher asked me, in front of the whole class, why my mum had only put down for one ticket for an event at school. I didn’t have the confidence to say in front of everyone that it wasn’t a mistake, it was just my mum and I and, actually, my dad was dead. That was my normal, but so very abnormal to other people.

By the time I reached my teenage years, I became more comfortable in telling people that my dad was dead. I met other people who had experienced bereavement and I didn’t feel as isolated. As my understanding grew, so did my outspokenness. One of my biggest frustrations is being lumped under the single parent umbrella. My mum did not choose to raise mess a single parent: when you have a child with a person that you love, you don’t envisage that it will result in raising the child alone, be that as a result of divorce or separation or death of a parent. I am from a single parent family, as are many of my friends, for various reasons. I defied the statistics and wasn’t suspended from school (the opposite, I went through school without ever getting a detention), I completed my a-levels, I didn’t and still don’t have a criminal record and I was not a teen parent. I valued my education.

When you lose a parent, it’s the big milestones that can really test me. The big birthdays, the achievements, the weddings and the thought of potentially having children, in future, and them not knowing their grandfather. However, as time goes on, I’m able to see them as a chance to remember and celebrate their part in my life rather than simply suffering through these events all the time. I’ve also learnt that not everyone will get it. Please, don’t bitch about your parents in front of me, unless you have extenuating circumstances. I’ll never forgot, at the age of ten, one of my peers told me that I was lucky that my dad was dead, because it meant that it was one less parent I’d have to convince if I wanted something. Sure, I’m really lucky. Get some perspective on how truly fleeting life is. This is a club that I never wanted to join and yet I can’t revoke my membership.

Having lost my dad at such a young age, I get very anxious at the thought of losing my mum. Obviously I’m not stupid, no one is going to life forever but the thought of her dying makes me want to physically throw up. For my whole life, it’s been my mum and I, battling against the odds and ridings and ups and downs and the thought of facing life alone or without her really scares me. When I was a child, I used to panic beyond belief whenever my mum was ill, even if it was just a cold. It puts me in a situation completely out of my control and I hate that.

Life does go on, but there will be times even all these years later, I will still break down like it happened yesterday. When those moments happen, I’m not sure why I’m breaking down, because I don’t know any different. This is my reality.

 

 

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