This one gets its own blog for obvious reasons.
6th grade: Dad died at the age of 41 of a heart attack.
So I can write a lot or I can write nothing; it doesn’t change anything and it still has an impact. I have written and talked about this a lot, ironically more so as I get older and realize just the impact this had on me and the way I live my life. IYKYK
My life changed after this. Of course it did. I went from two loving parents to one. Money was tighter. I learned about grief. I watch my mom crumble yet keep her shit together in a way I will never forget. I got mad when I saw men older, heavier, less fit than my dad and wondered how they could still be alive if my dad wasn’t.
What I didn’t know at the time was how much this changed my life. I often say that I got a slap of reality at a young age. I knew that people died young. Bad things happen to good people. I learned of disappointment; my family was going through an exciting change when this happened. I still have a hard time anticipating that good things will happen to me. Not pessimism but more not wanting to get hurt or disappointed again. Therefore I build up walls. I have worked on this for years; some progress and a lot more to go. I’ve learned to accept some of who I am and what holds me back.
What I have also learned is empathy. Sometimes just being there and listening is enough. Listening without judgement, listening without advice. The walls and the empathy were part of me before my dad died, the trauma enhanced them.
What I did not understand as a child was that my dad was a person, not just a dad. His death was tough on his friends, family, co-workers. I couldn’t comprehend other adults, besides his immediate family, grieving. I figured they forgot about him after a while. It wasn’t until years later when I lost a family friend that I got it.
I couldn’t write this entry yesterday because I wanted to deal with the day differently. It hit harder this year. Some years I barely remember and some hit hard. Since it was on a weekend day this year it was harder because I was home and thought about it. Other life events will also shape my feelings.
I got my sense of humor from my dad. Actually, I have always told “dad jokes”. There are still times today when I will laugh at something and think of my dad.
It hurts because there was so much love.
Btw, this happened the summer after 6th grade. I started 7th grade, middle school, at a new school with this heavy burden on my little shoulders. Something else that few people understand.
8th grade: Two Years! Wow! I really miss dad. Not a bad day.
Oh kiddo, you make me cry. I always say that I want to go back and hug my little 11 year-old self but this 13 year-old wisdom needs a big hug.
Phew!
Introverted runner and other stuff 