Facing a Parent's Death

My Dad died this morning. He was 77 and has been battling to live for awhile now. I saw him Sunday and he was doing pretty well...it was a great day...beautiful, sunny and with family celebrating Mom. I wasn't sure I was going to make it, but thankfully had a good day myself.

On one hand...I am happy for him. He died of a massive coronary in his sleep...don't we all want to go in our sleep if we have a choice? Plus, he's had a couple smaller heart attacks and serious side effects due to diabetes..I mean things like siezures and he suffered several issues due to exposure to Agents Orange, White and Purple. Life has not been easy for awhile and he really is probably better off now.

Our relationship has always been complicated. Ups and downs and many things I never understood until last year when I discovered in some of his military files that they suspected mental illness and despite that he was never treated for it. I learned to accept that resolution and true understanding of his side of things would never come. Letting go wasn't easy, but so much nicer for me when I finally could.

Now it's over. The story is done and no more chapters will be written and my feelings are all over the place. Even though it shouldn't be, that phone call was a shock and I don't even know how to begin getting it through my head that my dad is dead. I don't know how to begin to face this.

I know many of you have been there...any advice?

My condolences, ma'am.

I haven't been there...yet...but I know it's coming sooner rather than later. My parents are both in their 70s and, other than the heart attack my dad had a few weeks ago (not a serious one, but a heart attack nonetheless), are in good health. But I know that day's coming.

Condolences.

My condolences.

I've been there. 17 years ago, I got that call in the middle of the night. My father had died of a heart attack. It was not altogether unexpected; the doctors had told him it was just a matter of time. There wasn't anything really unresolved between me and him--that was not the case with him and one of my brothers--but there's still a sense that there could have been more. I remember that, in the days following, I didn't feel so sad, but rather...unsettled. I felt like the world had suddenly changed and I wasn't sure how it was all going to play out.

Not sure I have much in the way of helpful advice except maybe avoid dwelling on what-might-have-beens. We only get the time we get and, if there was something unsettled in your relationship, it's beyond addressing now.

Sorry for your loss.

My condolences.

I lost my Dad back in 99. I don't have any great advice to give beyond this: This will hurt, and then it will get better, and both is natural. It helped me to keep that in mind , in order to readily allow myself both the pain (rather than trying to keep a stiff upper lip) and the return to normality (rather than thinking there is some duty to remain somber). It also helped me (taking Betty White's advice on this!) to remember the good things rather than the bad: Birthdays in years to come rather than the day he died, for instance.

Sorry about your loss, but I can't really offer any advice. When my dad died, it was great and I wasn't sorry to see him go.

My condolences. Can't offer any advice, either, as aside from lacking that experience, I just generally never know what to say anyway, even just to offer comfort to someone. :/

My codolenses. I lost Dad 8 years ago. I won't tell you that it gets better; it just gets less painful. My mom and found the best thing to do was remember things he did, good and bad until we could do both without crying. Much.

I've lost both parents, but the best advice I can give is from an issue of "The Sandman." Since there is a character named "Death," I'm going to have to dig out the comic for the exact quote but basically it is that you'll feel terrible but over time it hurts less and less and from time to time something comes up that reminds you and makes everything hurt again but that that happens less and less over time. Neil Gaiman says it much better, of course. Then there's the poem, "Gone From My Sight," which is at the end of the book the hospice people give you. I don't know how reassuring it will be for you but it meant a lot during my Mom's cancer:

I'm watching my own parents slide down toward the final exit. In a couple weeks my family will all be together at their place to clean out some stuff and so grand kids and great grand kids can see them for what's likely to be the last time. And of course the unexpected death of my wife two years ago . . . It pops out at you when you least expect it.

My sympathy is with you, Tamar.

Sorry about your loss Tamar. I think you are already on the right track -- sharing about the person and your relationship can be very helpful. My father died when I was 18, and I very much regret never having had an adult relationship with him, or that my own children and wife never got to know him. He had a long battle with Leukemia, and I was never realistic about what that meant, holding steadfast to the idea that he would win the fight. Only in the last week did I understand that he wouldn't, so in spite of all the foreshadowing, it was nevertheless a shock to the system. I don't think it can be otherwise.

Hold tight to the memories, they are the part of you that is his spirit, and don't be surprised if at any point during the first year you find yourself profoundly sad at unexpected moments. But then it gets better. But there will always be those times when the sadness returns. Just writing this now about my dad, 25 years after he died, has actually brought some tears to my eyes.

I'm really sorry for your loss, Tamar.

My wife and I will be praying for your family in this time of pain!

I wish I could run up there and hug you, Tracie. I guess it's no solace that every person has to go through it at some point in their lives.
My Dad died in 2003, 2 days after new years, at 80. He'd been feeling a bit poorly for a while, but it was pretty much impossible for anything to make him less than the vibrant, go-get-em personality he always was. When they found throat cancer in Nov 2002, and that it was spreading to his lungs very fast, it was less than three months of suffering before he checked out. Quick, but not pleasant for anyone, least of all him.

How did I cope? I dug into everything I could find about his WWII adventures. I loved all his war stories, so I wrote them down, dug out his photos to illustrated them, and made a web page to share with the world how cool my Dad was. That kept my mind on the positive for a while, and kept me from dwelling on the sadness and anger. In fact, I'm still going thru his letters home to his mother a few at a time, getting a picture of who he was in his reckless youth.

And I still miss the hell out of him.

I will be facing this soon. My step-dad has dementia and other health problems too. It's a real drain and strain on my mom.
I wish I could help but I'm six or seven states away from them. I do not want to be a burden on anyone when my time comes. If I can die with my boots on doing what I love, that will be fine by me.

Tamar,

My heartfelt condolences to you and your family. Having lost my father 13 years ago and my mother last year, I can only suggest focusing on any good your father had done and any good experiences you had together. If possible. you need to let anything negative go. My mother was a piece of work, believe me, but she also had a very giving side. That is what I focus on. And actually, if you can look at some of the crazy things your dad may have done and find humor in them, this might help too.

I wish you the best.

TLS

Sorry to hear about that.

Lost my dad 7 years ago, my step-dad 18 months ago, both to cancer.

You kind of feel lost for a bit, but you find your way, with the help of friends and family.

Talk about the good times, laugh about silly times, roll your eyes and mock the bad times.

The void never really goes, but that is no bad thing as it makes you remember.

HUGS. I lost my father last September. I was living in his house - which i have now inherited - as his full-time carer and went through 3.5 years of physical/mental decline before the end, so it was not exactly unexpected - but still a shock. He was not feeling well on his 90th birthday, so stayed in bed. I let his guests come to cheer him up anyway, and he smiled at them all, saw his cards and gifts, ate an apricot and a choc cookie. The next day he was in pain and went into hospital. A day or so later, the Dr told me his bowels had burst, they wouldnt operate at his age, and that he had days left... I spent extra time with him in hospital that day, and went back on the following day prepared to sit it out til the end. My son and a friend came with me - but left soon afterward, and I sat beside him. That last day, the last few hours, he no longer responded with a grimacaing smile and flickering open of eyes as he had done the previous day, he lay there, breathing in semi-awareness.

The nurse asked if i would lik the chaplain to say prayers, and his being a Christian, i agreed. She was saying the prayers as he passed away, as if freed into his beleif, going to his God and wife in Heaven...

I feel that i have a better grasp on death than many, as I have contemplated it much and have no fear. I also beleive in reincarnation... but it is still a shock, a change, something VERY different to suddenly not have a father, whether reborn or gone to Heaven. I think that was the worst part for me - the 'everything has changed' moment. It was probably a relief for dad - as his health had gone downhill majorly since I returned home in late 09. Bowel problems, mobility problems, anxiety problems, dementia...and much sadness and griuef, as he still was not over losing Mom back in 05.

So, although my expoerience is likely to be very different to yours, I think my advice or suggestion would be to sit down comfortably and analyse the changes. It may be painful, but it will help you get through the first few weeks/months if you recognize how things are noit the same as they were and accept that, see life as it is now...

My dad is 72 - to think he may have many more years living with his exponentially increasing dementia really bums me out. But if I could quit my job and move closer would it help? It might take the burden off my mom.
But I'm 52 - getting a job competing against a bunch of folks 32 years old who share my skill-set is a fool's task.
It's very troubling.

why do i keep missing these threads? i echo Forbin...the think i most want to do is hug you and quietly hold your hand...but geography can be a bitch.

i don't have experience burying a family member with whom i've an unresolved relationship, but i have tons of experience with a hard to love father. honestly, i think he's burned his last bridge with me and i'm too cold to care. I feel like what's unresolved is in his court, if he dies without addressing it then, well, he will have died as he lived i guess. Don't suppose any of that constitutes "advice" does it?

Love ya sis.

That's the biggest thing. No matter what happened between the two of you, it's finished. Done. Complete. The best thing you can do now is to look back at their life and your relationship with them and see if there's a lesson you you can take from it. Maybe you can pull yourself back from making some of the same mistakes they did, or change your relationships with those you still have left while there's time. Or maybe it'll just be a giant boxing glove to the face that says "Life is short, DO something with it!" that shocks you out of your complacency and pushes you towards doing something you'd been putting off.

But I'm just talking out of my ass here, and not speaking from any sort of personal experience.

I lost my mom in 2012 (March) and my dad in 2009 (April). He was 66, she was 63. I still have dreams about them both, some good, some bad. I miss them both a lot. My step-brother just died in a car accident at 36. And my step-mother just died in March of this year. I've been to too many funerals recently.

I just saw this thread! You have my most sincere condolences.

Oh, two other things: My aunt expressly asked for me to do her eulogy, after which my Mom (her sister) told me that she'd decided to do a eulogy as well and that she found that even if you don't present it at the funeral, it helps you to organize your thoughts and say goodbye.

On a lighter note, I like to think of my Dad as coming to me in times that I need advice in glow-y Jedi robes like Yoda and Obi wan Kenobi. He hasn't, to date, but I like to think he will.

My sincerest condolences.

Damn, Tamar. Sorry for your loss.