My year froze on February 17th when my dad died of COVID after almost two months on a ventilator. Yesterday I saw a mini-van window painted with "Congrats Class of 2021" demanding that I recognize it’s May.
Each 17th of the month, I celebrate my son turning a month older and mark another month since my dad has been gone. They never got to meet each other.
Since I couldn’t bury my dad, I buried my feelings into a fortress numbed by work, pizza, and Netflix. I gave myself permission to take a break from everything. I can't serve and contribute to others until I take care of myself. Now I’m excavating the post-death lessons as I resurrect myself.
Death reveals love.
My dad died at 1:43 am. In the 1990s, the number 143 was the pager and instant messenger code for "I love you." It was his final message to us. I've never felt more loved by my friends and family. I'm humbled by the number of people who have supported us. I smile every time someone shares a memory of my dad. A group of burly longshoremen, my dad's co-workers, took us out to dinner. We stayed until the restaurant closed, telling stories about my dad.
Death gives clarity to life.
I have clarity on my relationship with my dad. Our relationship was complete. There was nothing left unsaid. My dad was a legend whose stories will continue to be passed on. As a Longshoreman, he was so beloved that the Port of LA lifted and lit up all its cranes to honor him.
I quit my nonprofit job working with local health departments. My dad was a workaholic, who loved his job, but he was a closeted musician. He came home every day and played music with a friend who was in and out of homelessness. I could see myself getting trapped into the 9-5 work style and not having enough creative freedom for my art. I knew my job wasn't a perfect fit, but I didn't have enough courage to quit until my dad died.
Grief doesn't end, but I'm starting to come out of my numbness.
Writing is what got me through the past few months. I wrote this tribute about my dad. I am committing to writing a weekly newsletter to share what I am up to. I want to live a life aligned with my artistic side. My goal for this year is to start a dance studio. I shared this with my dad before he went on a ventilator, and he was so excited for me.
I'm honoring my dad's death with a renewed commitment to living an intentional life.
Death Gives Clarity To Life
It’s easy to become numb to the world around us when we experience trauma. Glad you were able to recognize this and rise up. Your Dad wouldn’t want it any other way. Love you!
My dear sweet Lauren, I never knew just how much we had in common until I read your heartfelt article. My dad was a longshoreman, and he was a very good musician. He had his own band, and played the bass. "The doctors of rhythm", were his second love. There's so much that happens when a daughter has been close to her dad, and he's no longer on earth 💔. That is a huge void, and yet, everything they've taught you, becomes crystal clear. Sometimes you find yourself wanting to call them and share your experiences and confirm 👍their wisdom to them. Thankfully you can still whisper, you were right again daddy. No worries, my friend. Your dad definitely met your son. They met in heaven, not on earth. Dad, Sent him to you to help you heal. He wanted you happy, after all you're his Baby Girl. No good father, wants to see his daughter crying. It absolutely breaks their hearts. Now that your Son is here with you, he brings life to You, your family and joy. And yes, we've learned to fill the dash between our date of birth, and the day we transition. We have NEVER been more clear, about living our best life's. We understand and value time, family and friends. Our weekends mean more. Holidays are super special and we celebrate the little things more. You and I have been blessed by our Father's. We know that we were loved and we pray for girls that never had their daddy treat them like a princess 👸. They missed what we had daily. Be gentle with yourself and keep on writing ✍. Thanks for sharing.