Mourning a loss before it happens: reflecting on experiences
The last few months have been very emotional. I’ve frequently woken up to text messages from my father’s friends, asking for updates and checking in on how my family is handling my father’s final days.
(If you need context to the situation, click here)
To those who have messaged me and have not received a response: I’m terribly sorry. I am trying to compartmentalize my roles as daughter and patient advocate. I’m torn, as I want a break from feeling like it’s my obligation to keep others in the loop and focus my energy on preparing myself for the worst. On the other hand, I want to thank everyone for keeping in touch and caring about my father and our situation.
It’s unclear how much time he has, but I have a gut-wrenching feeling the days are numbered. I don’t remember what it’s like to have a genuine conversation with my father that isn’t superficial as his mental acuity has declined to the point where I’m lucky he has days where he can remember I’m his daughter. I can’t help but feel depressed I didn’t get a chance to listen to more stories about his life and get to know him better or receive advice a father would love to give his adult daughter.
I’ve harbored a lot of guilt and self-loathing for living away from my parents during my entire adult life. I moved out of state for college and have been living away since then. I used to visit frequently, but the pandemic has put a damper on spontaneous excursions. During my recent visits, I felt as though I was focusing on quantity versus quality — soaking in every last minute even though the more time I spent with my father, the harder it was to see him deteriorate before my eyes, both mentally and physically. Tears flooded my eyes whenever I helped his thin, bone-protruding body to the restroom. In those moments, I had the most vivid flashbacks to fishing trips from my childhood. My father loved nature and animals, and I’ve inherited the insatiable curiosity towards the natural world and living things, which has largely fueled my desire to want to become a research scientist.
During the tumultuous past week, I’ve watched and read several narratives of politically polarized individuals from both sides of the U.S. political party spectrum. I believe that a huge underlying issue that is responsible for the political divide in the U.S. is lack of empathy and understanding of others’ situations. Most of my classmates from elementary school have not left our hometown, and I believe that is true for many individuals, especially those from more rural areas. While I feel guilt for leaving my family, I am thankful to have had the privilege and opportunity to mature in ways I would not have been able to if I had stayed put in Illinois. Moving and living in new areas has taught me to be more independent and has given me the chance to connect with individuals who come from very different backgrounds.
Meeting new people, especially individuals from very different backgrounds than my own, has taught me to keep a very open mind and become comfortable with changing my opinions or views as I take in new, secondhand accounts of others’ lived experiences. I’ve worked at Starbucks, country clubs, and elite research institutions across the Midwest and New England areas and what has always stuck with me the most is the people I’ve met and their narratives.
As I cope with living in a world without my father and letting go of the guilt I have towards not having had the opportunity to spend much quality time with him in my adult years, I feel immense gratitude for the opportunities my parents have provided me by immigrating to the U.S. and how wonderful it is to feel connected to so many people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting, especially in the last few years.
Grieving someone before they have passed is a very confusing feeling I don’t wish upon anyone, but it has provided me the opportunity to seriously reflect on my life, thinking back on all the experiences that have shaped me as a person that I attribute largely to my father.
