Today is November 21, 2010. On November 21, 2008, my life was irrevocably changed in a way that I never knew was possible.
I remember the day perfectly. It was a Friday and I was a junior in college. I was 20 years old and, up to that day, the most tragic occurrence in my life had been my parents’ divorce. After my last class, I met my friend Jessica and we hopped in her car and started the drive to my aunt and uncle’s house, a pit stop on our way to DC. We were going to visit with my aunt & uncle, sleep there, and make the short trip into the District the next morning to do shopping and visit a few museums. When we finally got on the road, Blue Raspberry Icees in tow, we battled through I-95 N traffic around Richmond and rolled up the mile-long drive way at Liberty Farms, where my Uncle Chuck and Aunt Josette live.
I knew something was off as soon as I walked through the door. The hugs I received from my aunt and uncle were different, they seemed to last longer and mean something deeper than just a welcome. I remember noticing that. After quick introductions to my friend Jessica, my aunt offered to take her on a tour of the historic house and my uncle said he needed to speak to me about something. He walked me into the alcove by my aunt’s office and sat me on a big wooden bench.
“Mere,” he started.
“What happened?” my thoughts immediately jumped to my mom or even my brother. Had he had a car accident?
“Now Mere,” he took my hand, sitting across from me, “You know your father loved you very much. But, he had a lot of problems…”
The truth started to sink in. Had my dad been in an accident? I remember asking that. And why hadn’t my thoughts immediately gone to him? And then I heard the most life-shattering sentence that I will ever know.
“Your dad,” a tear came to my uncle’s eye, “well, he took his own life, Mere. I’m so sorry.”
I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest. I couldn’t catch my breath. I let out huge, staggering sobs. My dad was gone. I heard my aunt in the kitchen. I knew she had just informed my friend Jessica, who was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time. My Uncle Chuck, my dad’s only and older brother, tried to comfort me with hugs. My Aunt Josette brought over a box of tissues and both she and Jess hugged me. Everyone was lost for words. What else was there to say? My father was dead, by his own doing, and my world was left shattered.
In the minutes, hours, weeks, and months following this, my life was turned upside down and will never quite go back to how it was. I was 20 and my brother turned 22 just four days later. We were not at all prepared nor equipped to deal with a tragedy of this magnitude. I still don’t think that I’ve fully processed everything. I’m simply too young to have lost a parent.
Even though he is no longer physically with me, every day I know that he is still here; somehow and somewhere, he is present. Not only am I the spitting image of the man, but in the gestures I make, the look in my brother Hunter’s eyes, or the phrases that we all use — he’s here. Even when I’m afraid I’ll forget what he sounds like, I can hear his voice saying, “Hey, princess!” like every night when he got home from work. It doesn’t make the hurt any less or the tears any fewer, but just knowing he’s still at the core of my being makes it all a little bit easier to remember him.
I can’t believe it has been 2 years. Some days it feels like 2 seconds. Some days it feels like 2 centuries. What I hate most is knowing that every day past November 21, 2008 is one day more that I haven’t spent with him.
My dad wasn’t perfect, and I won’t pretend he was. But he was my daddy and I was — am — his little girl. Today, I’m shedding a few tears, looking at old pictures, wishing he were here, and continuing to put my life back together. Today is simply one more day I remember how much I truly love my father.
I love you and miss you Daddy. Rest in peace. 2/10/63 — 11/21/08
I’m so sorry for what you have been through. My father suffers from depression and this has always been something I fear. Thank you for sharing your story. I’m so glad that you look back on your time with him fondly.
xx
Becca, thank you for the support. I’m sorry about your worries about your father — I know what it is like and it isn’t easy. Just be as supportive of him as you can and have faith that things will work out.
Wonderfully written and your love for your Dad shines through. I’m very sorry for your loss. MJ
Thank you for the kind words and support!
Meredith- All that I can say is that this is one of the most awful things that a person can experience in life. Your dad’s death had a profound impact on so many people. Actually the ‘tsunami of grief’ had far reaching impact because your dad was loved by so many. When I first heard of his death- my first reaction was “oh no- his kids…how can his kids be handed such pain”. You and Hunter were uppermost in my thoughts even though we had never met. Then I thought about your mom, Chuck and Josette, Colleen, my mom ( his aunt) and everyone else who would be devastated by this loss.
To say that the journey after a suicide is transformative does not even touch the depth and variety of emotion that people experience. All any of us can say is we are so sorry and the sadness about your dad’s death continues in our family. They say ( as in Bowen family systems therapy) that this kind of loss is not just horizontal ( through the connections who are living at this moment) but vertical as well( impacting generations after us in ways that are significant). People are changed by this kind of thing and it is only after many years that we sort some of it out.
Thank you so much for writing about your dad- and please know that he did love you and Hunter very much. I know this is true…
Thinking of you, Hunter and everyone else who is feeling the loss
Laura
Laura, thank you for the continued support you’ve shown us. Even though we’ve never actually met, you’re still family and you are HIS family so that makes your support even more heartfelt. I appreciate all your kind words, you always have something special to say.
<3
While it’s impossible to know exactly what someone is going through, I can relate to what you went through, especially, “My dad wasn’t perfect and I won’t pretend he was….” I always felt like going through a tragedy is made even worse when the nature of it is somewhat taboo, when the person we lost was loved, but still battled so many demons on his own. So I get that — and I get that the time flies but also doesn’t.
It’s been 12 years since my dad died. I wish I had advice. I still cry when I think about it, so I just think about it less. That’s the best I can really do.
Thinking of you today. <3
I was thinking of you when I was writing this, actually. It’s a sucky club we’re in, but at least we have each other for support. Thanks for the kind words and thoughts!
I am so, so sorry you have to go through this. My dad died when I was little, but too little to fully understand. Can’t begin to relate, but know that you have lots of support from your blog friends.
Meredith- I can’t even begin to understand the pain and hurt you must be going through. I am crying after reading what you wrote. I’m so sorry for your loss.
This is a beautifully written post. I’m sitting here crying after reading this and while I don’t know what thats like to go through or can even begin to imagine how you deal with that situation, thank you for sharing and I am sorry for your loss and the way you had to find out. This will always be difficult but will hopefully be easier in the years to come.
PS-I suck with writing sympathetic things but I am thinking of ya–hugs
Sorry I made you cry! But thank you so much for the support and the hugs. It means a lot to me!
Thank you for sharing this Meredith. Suicide is one of the most tragic ways to lose a loved one. I know too many who’ve been touched by this sort of loss. You and your family are in my thoughts, not only today, but also in the days and years to come.
Love you cuz.
Praying for you and yours, hon.
Meredith, thanks for sharing this. It’s so heartbreaking that you had to go through this and lose someone in this manner. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose a parent.
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Wow. I ran across your blog via my friend Kathy Ferguson on FB. This kind of loss is unimaginable to people who haven’t experienced it. It sounds as if you are processing it in a very healing, cathartic way. My husband lost his first wife, and my sons their Mommy, when she was 33 & the boys 2 & 5. She is still part of our family, even though I didn’t know her when she was alive. I know they will never “get over” their loss. It just isn’t something you get over. You learn to live with it, some times better than other times. Bless you on your journey. I pray for the day (if you haven’t had it yet) when you can have a thought about your father that isn’t tainted by your loss of him. Take care.
Julie, I’m glad Kathy passed it along to you — her son is one of my best friends from college and I love their family! Thank you for taking a second to read and to comment, and thank you even more for your thoughts and prayers. I am so thankful to have the support of people like you!
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Love you so much!
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