Parent loss.

When you lose your dad

(Full disclosure: I got permission from my daughter to discuss this topic)

I do not have experience with this type of loss. I talk about widowhood because that’s what I know. I really can’t speak to the loss of a parent because I have no idea how that feels. I almost don’t have the right to discuss it.

But as the mother of a child who has lost a parent — her dad — I can tell you what I see from my perspective.

I see a young woman starting off her adult life without her dad there for support. Sure, I can try to pick up the slack for Don to the best of my ability but it’s not the same. Not even close.

I see a young woman who is experiencing grief as I never did at her age. A young woman newly married with a puppy and a house. A few degrees and a new career.

I see a young woman who was extremely close to her dad. A dad who was amazing and present and involved who loved her more than anything else in this world. He was the dictionary definition of a “girl dad.” He wore his pride on his sleeve when it came to her. She was the absolute sunshine of his life.

I see a young woman wishing she could pick up the phone and tell her dad about her day. I see a girl who must miss his daily “goodnight” texts terribly.

I see a young woman who, as she grows older, will always miss her dad. Who will always wish she could have a conversation with him. Pick his brain for advice. Tell him about her day. Her accomplishments.

I see a girl who will not have her dad at every new and different stage of her life — finishing school, starting a career she has been working so hard to achieve. Becoming a mom.

Don brought different things to the table as a parent. I can tell you he was a strong influence on her and I am immensely grateful she had such a wonderful male role model in her life, especially during the formative years. She is who she is in large part because of him.

But when I think of her and all she has attained since his death and all the things he will not be here for, it crushes me.

It isn’t fair. I realize life isn’t fair but she’s too young. He was too young. Yes, the parent is supposed to go first. That is the order of things, after all. But for her it was just too soon.

Would it have been easier if he lived to the ripe old age of 90? Perhaps. Still difficult, I’m sure. Losing a parent is always to be expected. But it would be expected in that case. Not “expected” as in you have been diagnosed with a terminal illness at the age of 60 but “expected” because you will die of natural causes. You will die of old age. Your body is done and it is time. Not because cancer got to you first. And snuffed out your life prematurely.

My daughter is private about her grief. But I know she thinks of him everyday. I know when she has a huge milestone or when it’s a birthday or holiday she feels sad, heavy.

But it must be different for her. Just as she doesn’t know what it’s like to lose a spouse and I pray to god she will never find out. I try to put myself in her shoes but it’s impossible. I can only have compassion and an understanding what it’s like to lose someone so special, someone who was so present.

I talk often about grief being a part of your soul for the rest of your life when someone you loved so very much passes away. I will always grieve Don. I will always love him. I will never, ever forget him. I will think about him every single day for the rest of my natural born life. But I could potentially have another companion one day. She will never have another dad.

And that is a fact that saddens me deeply. The loss of our spouse is profound and intensely painful. But our children…they are affected differently. It has to change them, as it has changed us, the widow.

Olivia’s graduation from nursing school. You can see the love he had for her in every photo of them together. It was deep and pure, unconditional. His love for her reached his eyes, his smile, his soul. Does she still feel his love from where he is? I don’t know. I hope she does. But it is not the same, is it?

All she can do now to reach for comfort is to think of him and all their memories as father and daughter. I’m happy she has at least that. That is something to be grateful for.