Almost Ten Years Since He Died

I was on my morning commute, running a little late, when I got stuck at a red light. Out of nowhere, a thought came: “What would I give for an afternoon of deep conversation with my dad?” It’s funny how the mind works. I stop at that same light every day; this was the first time it brought him to mind.

Next month, it will be 10 years since my father’s sudden death. I still have his contact on my phone.

I didn’t think about death that much before he passed. Since then, it shows up in my thoughts more often than I’d like: mine, my family’s, my friends’. My time felt infinite before he died. Now I know it isn’t. It makes me value time more, and I choose to spend it with the people I care about most. There’s no time for bullshit. Some of it is still required to survive in modern society, but I try to keep it to a minimum.

I wonder if we’re so different after all. What would he think of the current version of me? We didn’t part on the best terms back then. I used to think I knew what regret was before that day where everything changed, and nothing changed. It’s difficult to put words to what I felt that Monday. My whole world collapsed.

I still think of him. Not every day, but often.

The first time I remember seeing my mom cry over a father dying in a movie, I asked her, “Why the tears? It’s just an actor, he’s alive in real life.” I wasn’t even five. She said it reminded her of her own father, who died when she was four. Now, when a father dies in a movie, I tear up too—even The Lion King hits differently. I’m not sure whether what I feel is sadness, or regret.

It took me six years to be able to talk about it with people, my brother included, and I still get tears in my eyes every time I do. What finally opened the door was an essay by someone grieving her father; that gave me the courage to sort through my emotions. During a three-hour train ride to Paris, I wrote my memories of that day, and it helped a lot. I created this blog to share those memories in public; maybe someday they will help someone else grieve.

There’s a new normal now. A normal in which what’s left of my nuclear family is scattered across three countries. We’re all healed up. Life is good.