Adventures of the Traveling Grief Case

October 7th, 2018

Dear Dad,

It’s been almost 2 months now.  I don’t know if it went by quickly or it’s just the beginning. Definitely feeling some type of way today.  Quiet.  Contemplative. Maybe depressed.  So much on my mind.  The other day I started with my questioning and self-sabotaging mood.  Where I start to over think and question everything. I should probably meditate or something.  I just feel like I’m in a funk today.  Maybe reading will help.  Get my mind off everything and escape. 

I’m happy I made it through the wedding even though there were definitely tears.  The father daughter dance and the song that was played really hit me.  The lyrics were too much. 

---

I Loved Her First

It was just two months after my dad passed away that I went to my friend’s wedding.  I was pretty deep in my grief, but I put on a smile and get things done. 

I was never the little girl who dreamt about a wedding day.  I still don’t really have dreams of it.  I’m pretty sure if I ever do get married one day, I would want a small, simple and private wedding. 

Yet there I was, in a room filled with coworkers and strangers, as they announced the father daughter dance.  As the song began to play, I knew this was going to be a tough moment. I had never heard the song before, but I listened to the lyrics as I watched my friend, the bride, smiling and dancing with her dad.  

---

I felt the tears well up in my eyes and slowly leaking down my cheeks.  Not every word rang true. Yet in that moment, watching them dance, came the pain. The knowing that I would never experience a moment like this felt devastating.

It was like this physical feeling that hit so deep. 

I felt all eyes on me. My friends at the table, tried not to look yet wanted to see my reaction.  They wanted to check on me. Looks of pity and sorrow bore into me as I tried to control my emotion. I wanted to hide.  To run. However, had I left in that moment would only draw more attention.

No Where to Run

That was the worst part of grief. Not being able to hide. Not being able to mask it with a smile. The way it crept up and poured out in the most awkward of moments. 

My sisters absolutely HATE when I cry in public.  They find it utterly embarrassing.  I never understood why they would be embarrassed when I’m the one crying. 

Sometimes emotions can’t be controlled.  And many times, they shouldn’t be.  That’s what emotions are for, to be felt.

In the moment, sitting there crying while everyone watched felt worse than any grief. I only wished I could pull it together.  I hated feeling pitied.

It was like everyone felt helpless at that moment. 

On top of everything else, I felt guilt when it was supposed to be all about the bride. 

That was her moment. 

There I was, blubbering. I felt like the attention had shifted to me. The last thing I wanted was attention.

Thank God most songs are only 3 to 4 minutes long. By the end of it, I had calmed down enough. I had finally mapped out an escape route which will draw minimal attention.  Needless to say, I made it through the rest of the wedding with minimal tears after that and maximum alcohol! 

I was able to dance and enjoy myself the rest of the night. What I hadn’t thought about was the letdown of the next day.  Don’t forget that alcohol is a depressant, so the day after my grief would only hit a little harder. 

The Next Day

I can’t remember where I was the next day, but I know I took a ride and sat in my car for about an hour. The song from the father daughter dance played on repeat as I sobbed for about an hour, listening over and over until the tears dried up. 

Why do I do that to myself? It’s like I wanted to cry. Then again, maybe I was hoping I could just get it all out.

that would be weird

It would be weeks later when I talked to my sister about the incident.  “Did it make you sad to think you wouldn’t be able to have that father daughter dance with dad one day?  Because that wasn’t a dad thing.  I don’t think he and I even did that at my wedding.  Dad hated that shit!  It would have been weird!”  She said,

“Yes!  That’s exactly what I was thinking about.  What if I get married one day.  Dad won’t be there!  I can’t do that.  And now I don’t even have the choice!  But that’s a good point.” 

I laughed realizing that I wouldn’t have been dad at all.  I started thinking about how awkward it would have been if that were ever to happen.  He wasn’t that kind of dad.  We weren’t that kind of family. 

He had his quiet, loving ways, but we were never a huggy, kissy kind of family.  When he kissed me, it was on the forehead and when he hugged me it was awkward and stiff. 

I realized it wasn’t something I necessarily wanted; it was the fact I could never have it. 

The finality that death brings. 

It was like knowing I couldn’t have it only made me wish for it more.  Grief and life are weird that way.  The idea of not having something often makes us think we really want it, whether we do or not. 

So, I decided to make an alternate reality.  I decided that if I ever did get married one day it would be my son.  He would walk me down the aisle.  He would dance with me.  And that wouldn’t be awkward at all.