I didn’t cry much after you passed away.
In all honesty, I felt a flood of relief as we sat watching. The nurse leaned over your hospice bed, cold stethoscope pressed to your chest, not needing to be warmed first. Your breathing had been labored and rattly, then shallow.
Mom and I sat, sides touching on the couch, and when the nurse rose, draped her stethoscope back around her neck and shook her head slightly, her voice gentle and consoling, telling us what we already knew, mom laced her hand in mine, tucked her head to my chest and let out the tiniest muffled sob.
We were ready to let you go then because you were suffering. Because at that moment, we could only deal with the reality of your medications, your mind shrouded by disease, your constant pain and your longing for heaven. You slipped from us that night but you had been going for years.
We let go of the dying because we knew you had life ahead of you.
It was all very business like after that. The nurses left us. We called Jordan to come before they took your body away. The shell that you wasted away in during your final years of sickness. And we all behaved well in these stark hours when grief was new and fresh.
It’s odd really, that sometimes during the most difficult times of grief, a steely resolve sets in and you can do what needs to be done.
But then 2 years have passed, and it’s your birthday.
You would have been 60 today.
And the holidays have just passed again without you. Your absence is starker now. The distance of your illness removed and the memories of you as you once were more brilliant.
The relief that you are no longer suffering has faded and in its place, the loss of who once was, before all of that.
And then suddenly, we pass by the busy fish market, the glistening scales and crab shells bound by rubberbands and displayed on pure white ice and it all collapses. Because you would have loved this. And you are not here to enjoy it. And only those who remain feel that loss. The emptiness of experiences without the pleasure of your reaction to them.
And its true that when time passes, our memories solidify less into what they actually were, and more into how we wish to remember them. It is not the fading of memory like an old photograph yellowed with edges curled and worn but rather, the burst of a photographic flash, brilliant and blinding, the colors too garish.
The memories offend the senses because they are just too much to take in and instead of the grief settling low, it bubbles up anew at the oddest of times.
And for me, this year is the hardest.
Because we would have struggled to think of what to get you and ended up with new socks. Because we would’ve had a family dinner tonight with all your favorites.
Because you would’ve been a safe place for me when depression hit again this past month. You would’ve been both empathetic and objective. You would’ve had wisdom and encouragement, for those were two of your greatest gifts.
Because you would’ve been proud of me, of my writing, of my dreams. You would’ve bragged and written down my blog address for everyone who would stand still long enough and I would’ve been mortified.
Because your grandchildren would’ve made you cards and drawn you pictures and you would’ve reached for your glasses, while they climbed on your lap, and you would have looked each of them over and loved every moment.
Because mom is strong and brave like she has been her whole life but sometimes it is all too much and she’s a bit lost without you. Because although we try our best to be there for her, you were her partner in this life and it feels like you went too soon.
Because eventually you would annoy us all and we would sigh in frustration and never know how much we would miss your annoying habits when you were gone.
Because without you here this year, your absence is felt keenly.
Because we miss you. Because we love you.
Happy Birthday, Dad.
I didn’t want to read this but I knew I needed to. My mother died nearly 9 years ago in January…and I’ve only begun to edge into the areas of my deepest grief. Bless you Alia ….he would definitely have been proud of this moment too.
Lorretta recently posted..Darkness Before the Dawn
So sorry for your loss, friend. They say it gets better with time but that’s not really true. It just gets different with time. Hoping your heart is protected and secure as you navigate through some of that grief. Bless you, friend.
Alia Joy recently posted..An Open Letter to my Dad on His 60th Birthday
Alia–I am 60 years old myself and feel young still. So obviously you lost your father, well, at a young-ish age. That makes me feel sad (my own mother died at 55). Very young!
This was a wonderful tribute to your dad and a lovely thing to write.
I know Jody, it is young in so many ways. My mother lives with us and she is 58 and I can’t imagine losing her at this age. He was very sick for the last years of his life and aged so very far beyond his normal years. Yes, 55 is so very young to lose your mother. Thank you, I feel like he would have been very proud. I know he was proud of me, but it still would’ve been nice to share my blog with him. He never saw me write publicly and I think he would’ve gotten a kick out of it.
Alia Joy recently posted..An Open Letter to my Dad on His 60th Birthday
Man Alia, my eyes can barely see through the tears!
We miss him too and so often think all those same things. It’s funny, because I often ponder how weird it is afterwards. It was different when he first died because we didn’t want him to suffer any longer, so it was relief. He seemed so old and sick, that it just seemed time. But, later, you realize how young he was and how much life he still had yet to live. It’s hard to grasp and he’s so dearly missed. Whether or not we have the peace that God has his timing for each of us, it doesn’t take away the hole that’s left when someone we treasure is gone from us in this life. I’m sorry you don’t have him right now when you so desperately desire to cling to him, but I’m thankful that his voice is still in your mind imparting wisdom and encouragement to you in your time of need. And I too know he would of been plugging your blog every chance he could and at the most awkward moments, like to the waitress at the restaurant during a family dinner! 
But, I also know that you and Jordan are now his legacy and your whole lives are what he’s proud, the fruit of your hands, your strengths and weaknesses, your accomplishments and failures. He’s gone, but all his gifts, strengths….and weaknesses (even the really annoying ones) are in you both. 
Especially Jordan, lol! 
Totally a waitress at a family dinner! Awkward moments abounded with him, at least for us… lol. I’m pretty sure Jordan got the weaknesses and I got the strengths? Yup, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Alia Joy recently posted..An Open Letter to my Dad on His 60th Birthday
Thanks for writing this to our Father Alia. I have been missing him too. It’s funny because I grieve more now than I did when he passed. All I could think about then was that his suffering would end and that he would go to be with the Lord where he would be better off. I remember longing even praying for death to take him so that it could all be over and he could rest at last.
Now that all that has passed and the seasons come rolling through, I miss him deeply. As time goes on I find myself a somewhat disillusioned “third-culture-kid” and an alien in most social circles that I am a part of. Dad was one of us too, a stranger on the outside looking in, trying to find his place, yet being way to stubborn to not go against the grain so much of the time. He was someone who saw things differently most of the time and even though I argued with him a great deal, I always knew that he had a great deal of wisdom.
He would drive me crazy sometimes and our conversations sometimes just went round and round in circles, but I miss all that now. Here I am almost 40 and I wish I could ask my dad for advice. I wish I could ask him how to move forward in the midst of so many struggles. I miss his crazy sense of humor and even the way he would almost always take the opposite stance than me on almost any given topic as though he were just testing me or something. I miss all that food that he and I would eat that make most people cringe.
I long for the day when we will all be united by grace in Christ and sit down together at table again. When all the trials of life will be behind us and God’s glory will come shining through so vividly. When all that seems trivial, pointless, and painful now will make sense, and the journey will be over.
We are just Pilgrims on our way home along the Kings Highway to the Celestial City. Dad, I really miss you. I’m on my way home –see you soon.
Yup, just some displaced third culture kids, waiting to figure out why we’re here. Specifically right here.
Love you.
Alia Joy recently posted..An Open Letter to my Dad on His 60th Birthday
Oh, Alia……..I need a tissue and my heart ache for you is putting me at a loss for words. Are there even words that I could say that would express a warm embrace? You have painted a beautiful picture with your words and the memories of your father. HUGS!
Thank you Laurie. I cried through the whole thing as I was writing. There’s been a lot of crying all around today. I’ll take that Hug! Blessings to you, Laurie.
Alia Joy recently posted..An Open Letter to my Dad on His 60th Birthday
Loss is hard no matter how it happens, it takes time to heal. Its interesting that this past year I have really missed my dad so much too and he has been gone for five years. I guess we need to just find our way thru our grief as we are ready to accept it. I am so thankful we have wonderful memories of my dad and your dad. They were both such special and fun people to be around. We are so blessed that they were guiding forces in our lives and that they lead us to the Lord… and our true Father who never leaves. Lord help us to remember the things of our Dads that were shaped by you that made them the men who were lights to many and brought joy and peace. May memories uphold you and your mom and family. Love you.
Yeah, I was talking to Jordan and Sarah tonight and I think we all are missing him more this year than we did even after he first passed away. I know that every family gathering your dad is missed. He was an amazing man and probably one of the most godly men I ever met. He embodied grace for me in so many ways. Thankful for a God who blessed us with those men in our lives. Love you too.
Alia Joy recently posted..An Open Letter to my Dad on His 60th Birthday
Grief never leaves us, does it? And the back and forth way it leads us, like some morbid dance, is both devastating and necessary. All of it–the gut wrenching absence, the handfuls of should-have-beens, the glorious moments that will never leave us–all of it continues to braid itself through our days and we have to make a choice. Stop and let all of it cave in on what is left or keep walking, even if only in a stupor some days.
Alia, mourning with you the loss of someone so very dear and precious and important. I am so very sorry.
“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.” ~Kahlil Gibran
Holly recently posted..How the light falls
I thought this when you tweeted the other night and I am feeling it again as I read your words, thankful for you in my life. And thankful we’ll get to meet in real life at Jumping Tandem. Even your comment in poetry.
I read this yesterday and I had to stop and come back to it today… I have know grief such as you described. My grandmother passed away 10 years ago this February and on December 26 this year she would have been 87… I miss her everyday…. keenly. It was the months following her death that were the hardest for me. Thank you friend for being so brave and open… I whisper your name in God’s ear every day friend… <3
Tonya Salomons recently posted..Glad Welcome
I never had a grandma I was close to or any family really. The first real loss I ever felt was when my husbands grandfather passed away 5 years ago. He was such a godly man and he’s missed at family events when I think of how much he added just by his presence but they lived in California so my day to day memories don’t remind me of him like the loss of my father. Grief is strange like that. Thankful for heaven. Thank you. I just don’t know what else to say, friend. You encourage and bless.
Alia, this was so honest, tender, heart-wrenchingly true. My husband’s second year after the loss of his dad was the hardest. Dear one, I am sending so much love and thanking God for your dad’s part in making you the woman you are.
Ashley @ Draw Near recently posted..A broken and beautiful Christmas
Love you too, Ashley. Time and grief are strange that way. Thanks friend.
Your words were my heart whispers 15 years ago when my Mother and I sat at my Baba’s bedside… we had lost him in so many ways over the 2 years of his cancer… and he died so bravely and I loved that he died as gracefully as he lived… and the intensity of how I miss him still catches me off guard … My parents were also missionaries in Africa… with separations that taught me how to love strong when we were apart…. Tutaonana baadaye. Oh yes.! Looking forward to your blog that I just subscribed to. Pal
My parents were missionaries in India for a number of years and my father would only come back every few years so there were long periods where he was gone. I hadn’t thought about it that way, the teaching of love during separation. Because, yes, this is just another separation. Thanks for commenting, I love to ‘meet’ new readers.
Thank you Alia for writing such a beautiful piece about Steve. I have been thinking about his birthday the last couple of days and was going to call your Mom. I miss him so much too and was grateful for a few Christmases and birthdays in India in the later years. Wonderful memories and simple like we liked it! Grace as you all continue to grieve. Thank you for helping me grieve a little more today as well. Peace, Leasa
Yes, he loved Christmas in Goa and would always brag about the Tiger Shrimp and how cheap they were. I do have wonderful memories as do you. Grace and blessings to you, Leasa.
Alia, My eyes teared up as I read this open letter to your dad, on his birthday. It’s hard to express in words how hard it is to miss a parent. So thankful for the promise of heaven and for your good memories. Today I was looking at my son’s graduation photo collage…there was his grandma, but grandpa Paul was already gone then. He died in 1986 and saw Justin once, when he was 2 years old. (We lived states away). I know he would have enjoyed Justin’s children..his great grandchildren. I can see his sweet smile and tender ways with them. It’s been awhile since I’ve thought about buying anything for him. But I still remember mom and dad’s anniversary and send mom a thinking of you card for that day, I know she still misses him. So do I. He died at 70 years young. He will always remain in my heart. I so wish you good memories as well down through the years. Hugs and blessings.
Becky L recently posted..Prayers for lifting a Ban
Thank you Becky. Those memories are like treasures along the way. What a blessing to have family to remember and yes, so thankful for the heaven that awaits us.
This was so true, and so beautiful. And as I read the comments of your friends and family as they added their own experience in grieving your father, it made my heart ache.
I think this should be submitted to a site or place that helps people deal with grief. It is that important, my sweet friend. Praying for you. Loving you.
Meredith recently posted..Scrap it Saturday: Christmas Memories
Thank you Meredith. Your words bless me. I don’t know of any sites that deal with grief but maybe I’ll look into that. I’ve been really terrible with guest posts or submitting anything lately. Thanks for the prayers, they are much appreciated.
Is it okay if I don’t have words for how tender and sweet this was? My dad will have been gone ten years this August,and it is crazy to me that Eilidh wasn’t even crawling yet when we lost him. What would he think to know that now he has five grandchildren now? Even though they never got to know him, I still love to bring him up and especially love to point out the similarities I see in them. I was telling Myles, with a smile, about how his grandpa loved raisin bran too, when he discovered them a couple of weeks ago and he smiled back at me and asked me if I missed him. He’s five, and I’m glad that he recognizes that Grandpa Hal was someone to be missed.
Kathi recently posted..To New Things
Funny to see the things in our kids that remind us. I don’t have words either but yea, they’re missed. Thankful for memories to pass on.