The memory of my dad’s cancer treatment stays with me. I often think of that dark hospital room, the air heavy with uncertainty. He was diagnosed with colon cancer, and his condition fluctuated alarmingly. One moment he seemed stable, then he was given just weeks to live. It felt surreal.
I was 22, and as I sat there watching him breathe, I tried to follow his rhythm. I knew our time together was limited. My dad passed on July 12, 2017, a year after his diagnosis. On that rainy day, he chose to leave this world peacefully at home, on the couch where we had shared countless moments. He opted for medically assisted death, a decision that allowed him some control over his final moments—a blessing considering the circumstances.
In the days leading to his passing, I felt overwhelmed. There were thoughts I wanted to convey to him, moments I would miss, advice I would seek. But once he was gone, it wasn’t just about allowing myself to grieve; it became about finding ways to talk about him. Grief is strange; it demands acknowledgment. I often expressed my longing to share memories, yet the right words often escaped me.
After his death, I quickly realized how many people are uncomfortable discussing loss. Common phrases like, "I’m so sorry" or "Your mother must be devastated" felt hollow. The sentiment was often well-intentioned, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling of isolation. I discovered that most people cared but didn’t know how to help. It was awkward and painful to hear someone say, “You never really get over it,” as if that were a consolation.
Interestingly, recent studies show that over 60% of people feel uncomfortable talking about death or loss (Pew Research Center, 2020). This suggests that conversations surrounding grief are more common than we think yet remain mostly untouched. It points to a societal need for more openness about such a universal experience.
During my mourning, I felt my father’s absence everywhere. Songs, food, even small moments seemed to remind me of him, triggering waves of grief. I struggled with how to bring him into conversations again, hoping others would understand the depth of my loss. It was hard to feel like the world continued moving while I was stuck in my sorrow.
Sometimes, friends tried to comfort me by sharing their own experiences with loss. While I appreciated their sentiments, it often left me with a sense of confusing pressure—was I expected to respond with my own story? But I understood that those moments often reflected their grief rather than mine.
A wise mentor suggested a creative outlet to help process my feelings. Writing became my lifeline. It allowed me to turn on the faucet of emotion, even little by little. Every entry in my journal stood as a testament to my journey through grief—an attempt to alleviate the overwhelming burden.
Life has indeed changed since my dad’s death. I find myself yearning to talk about him more, a natural desire to keep his memory alive. So, I share stories about how he taught me about gardening or the songs we enjoyed together. This sharing isn’t just a part of mourning; it’s my way of honoring him.
As you navigate loss, remember that there is no right way to grieve. Discussing memories of those we’ve lost can be a source of comfort. Each attempt to talk about grief—even when clumsy—offers a chance for connection.
Talking about grief is challenging, but I’ve learned it’s crucial. We’re all still figuring out how to honor our loved ones through conversation. And even though it might hurt, allowing ourselves and others the space to grieve can lead to healing. Let’s keep the dialogue going, one memory at a time.
For more insights on the complexities of grief and mental health, check out the American Psychological Association for resources that can help.
Check out this related article: Why ‘No Other Land’ Didn’t Win an Oscar: Insights from Those Who Prefer You Skip It
Source linkDeath,grief,funeral
