“Let’s face it, grief is hard. It’s very hard. Somedays are completely fine, and then others feel like the weight of the world is on your shoulders (or in my case, my tear ducts, because that’s my involuntary outlet of choice.) It has been almost 13 years since my father transitioned from this life, and the latter part of the year (around the holiday season) has always been difficult for me. I now realize that I’ll never get over losing a parent, and I'm not sure I'm supposed to. I’m taking things one day at a time.
I’m dedicating this story to the memory of him.
“It means no worries, for the rest of your days! It’s a problem free, philosophy, hakuna matata!”
If you didn’t know, that’s a line from The Lion King. It’s one of my favorite movies, mostly due to it being one of my first and happiest moments with my father. I had to be about 3 or 4 years old, and we would watch it religiously, sometimes multiple times. Whenever I was bored, we would curl up on the couch and recite every word to each other. It was almost like we wrote the script ourselves. When it was over, I’d sheepishly ask “Can we watch it again?”, he would pop the tape back into the video player, and our dialogue would begin again. If I was lucky, we would watch it a third time.
My brother, my father and I used to live in a small house on Elvans Road in Washington D.C. I didn’t realize how small it was until I got older and visited the house again. However, despite its size, one of the best parts about it was outside. There was a small hill that has a perfect view of the Washington Monument, and on the 4th of July we would go out and watch the fireworks.
Now, every time I watch that movie I alternate between smiling at the memory and crying because I know I’ll never get to recreate it. I’d do anything to get those moments back.
Fast forward to November 30th, 2008.
I was in my room, and I heard a knock on the door. I heard my lawyers voice, and I was immediately worried. I thought there was resurgence with the custody battle between my parents. I put my ear to the door, but I couldn’t quite hear the conversation. About 5 seconds later I heard my mother wailing like I’d never heard before. My heart sank because I just knew someone had died. I racked my brain and couldn’t come up with anything.
There was another knock at the door, and I heard my grandmother’s voice. I was even more confused.
In between sobs, my mother called myself and my brother to the living room. I don’t remember how the conversation went; I just remember it ended in tears because we just found out my father had died. I couldn’t believe it, I just spoken to him the Tuesday before. I went to my room and cried an ugly cry. My eyes were red, I had snot coming from my nose, and I had to figure out how to navigate school the next day. I know now that I should have just stayed home.
I remember being in the cafeteria crying most of the morning before first period. My mom had called the office that morning, so when I started crying in class, I was excused. I’ll never forget my history and humanities teachers taking time out of the day to comfort me and share their own experiences. My friends gathered around me and didn’t make me feel weak for crying. I’m not sure I ever properly thanked them.
Mostly everything after that became a blur of school and guilt.
I didn’t go to the funeral, so I don’t know where he is buried. His wife at the time (my stepmother) made the stipulation that my birth mom couldn’t come in, so in protest, none of us went. I’m not sure it was the right decision. I remember we went to some seafood restaurant after we viewed his body. I think I faked being happy all through that lunch. Even though I was surrounded by family, I wanted to be at that funeral. I wish I was old enough at the time to have made the decision to go, because I would have.
I called his phone just so I could hear his voice again. I enrolled in a guitar class, because that was his favorite instrument, and he was teaching me right before he died. I cried a lot. I still do.
Holidays are hard, so is his birthday, Father’s Day, and the anniversary of his death. I cry a lot, no matter who is around.
Sometimes I find myself looking at the obituary I have of him by my bed. It’s turning yellow, and I probably should laminate it.
Grief is hard, and somedays I find myself crying for no reason. Sometimes I feel weak for not being “over it.”
I’m not sure that I’ve turned the corner honestly. I don’t even know how to identify what the “corner” is.
But what I do have are the memories, and that’s what gets me through those tough times. The memory of us singing all the songs on The Lion King, or him narrating shows on animal planet. I see his smile in mine, the sense of humor, and the hearty laugh that comes when something is truly funny.
There is a scene in The Lion King where Simba is distraught because he finally has come to terms with the fact that his father is gone, and Rafiki tells him that “he [his father] lives in you.”
Even though my dad is gone, I truly believe that he lives in me, too.
I can smile knowing that. I guess I am finally turning the corner.”
With love always,
CDOG
