every day is Father's Day when you're grieving your Dad

I posted my first blogs about grief over two years ago, and reading them back feels like a slightly out of body experience. For a split second I think aww bless her until quickly remembering that the girl I’m feeling for is me…

Before losing my Dad, my biggest struggles were stressing about whether to go out on a Thursday or Friday night, the occasional stomach bug from travels that were always worth it, or whether the boy I liked was texting me back. Admittedly, my life was fortunate, convenient, and uncomplicated for 22 years. I say ‘admittedly’ almost apologetically as if there is something wrong with that, when of course there isn’t - it seems the only person I’m apologising to is my current self.

If you’re reading this and you met me for the first time in 2024, I likely owe you an apology for unsolicitedly trauma dumping on you. Uber drivers, hairdressers, shop assistants, and truthfully even the odd job interviewer were all unsuspecting victims. 

But I imagine if you’ve met me in the last year I’ve probably left a very different impression. I can’t hide my emotions so if I’ve been smiling it will be because I am actually happy and you’ve genuinely made me laugh - well done. But there is also a strange sadness in this reality that used to be inconceivable to me; that I could possibly be happy, so young, in a world where my Dad is not. 

My grief feels conflicting these days; on the one hand, I can go days without consciously thinking of him. The days when I’m living so presently and the only things on my mind are right in front of me. I used to think about the loss constantly, so at times I really treasure this respite. But grief has a tendency of compensating for those days, dragging me back to reality, reminding me that he is gone and the permanence of that. 

The main difference years into grief is that during those days, you are much more on your own. The vigilant and vast army that joins forces during the immediate aftermath wilts away to less than a handful, and a simple yet sincere how are you doing at the moment becomes a sentence that reminds me of those fever dream-like early months, rather than a common check in. Sometimes it can feel like an accomplishment, like I’ve come so far that people don’t need to check in, that they don’t see me and think, I’ll circle back with her next week - go me. But I would be lying if I were to say that this isolation doesn’t affect me; grief can be ugly and judgmental which although I always try to channel positively, I am certainly not exempt from. 

As time has passed I sometimes feel the injustice more. I read an isolating statistic that only 5% of people under 25 have lost a parent, and as much as I hate sob stories, some things are sometimes worth sobbing about. With more time passed, I see more pictures of Dads at their daughters' weddings, see them hugging goodbye at train stations, see parents going travelling together in retirement - a privilege my Mum was so cruelly robbed of, or hear anecdotes of complete families simply spending time together; something I would do anything for just 5 minutes of. Call me jealous and bitter, you’d be absolutely right.

Having said this, the more life has built around the loss, the more stabilised and adjusted I am. The sad yet necessary reality is that I am used to life without my Dad now. Naturally sometimes it hits me when I least expect it, but day to day my nervous system has recalibrated just enough that it no longer consciously affects everything I feel and do, which definitely feels like a win. 

Life still feels segmented between the before and after. Two years on I still struggle to think too deeply about the naive happiest version of myself who existed mere minutes before he died. And in all honesty, I can't really remember a life without grief, where irrelevant troubles bothered me without having something significant to compare them to. Something probably worthy of an entire blog post on its own, although maybe that perspective isn’t a bad thing.

Some things are just shit, and it takes a lot to fight the British urge to offer a silver lining to it. It is our third Father’s Day without him, and as much as condolences today mean a lot, every day feels like Father’s Day when you’re grieving your Dad. Those who are so lucky to have positive and present relationships with theirs, dedicate this day to think about how grateful they are and how much they love them. But when you lose them, these are just standard, daily thoughts, but of course twinged with an inexplicable sorrow. If you are one of those lucky people, I urge you to show them that appreciation today and everyday.

All this is not to say I don't love my current life. Losing my Dad woke me up, albeit brutally, from a complacent state of living. I actively cherish all aspects of life more, feel things more deeply, laugh harder, and love more intentionally. And although it has taken the worst thing in my life to happen, it has provided me with perspective and resilience which I really appreciate.

Happy Father’s Day, Ginge. I miss you today just as much as I do on every other.

Ruby x