Losing a Parent at 27
A comprehensive overview of a twenty-something dealing with grief & loss.
I’VE SAT DOWN TO WRITE ABOUT MY JOURNEY, AND WHAT PEOPLE DON’T TELL YOU ABOUT LOSING A PARENT IN YOUR TWENTIES — ABOUT A DOZEN TIMES. It’s a weird and vulnerable thing to blast online but hey.**
**I feel inspired to share my story, because I know somebody out there needs to hear it. I know this absolutely positively sucks, but you are never alone.
(Trigger warning: contains details of Cancer, death and grief that not all will be comfortable with.)
The Diagnosis
I remember it clearly, as much as I wish I didn’t.
It was a bright and cloudy January morning, thick snow on the pavement, bundled in a car with both my parents and arriving at the Munson Cancer center in Traverse City. Anxious and hopeful, we spent the day confined to a tiny office stuffed with three chairs. Fluorescent lights strong and with a half dozen doctors offering in and out offering vague information and charts of the cancer, dense dark clouds floating printed in the xray. The prognosis was grim.. We heard it for the first time that day,, my father was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer at fifty-six.
Somewhere between the blur and the “Free Lunch” vouchers to the cafe — I took my first stab at typing out my story. I wanted to write how we had the best and strongest dad, that the medical team would cure him somehow and we’d triumph this illness as a family. My dad was always the strong one. He-man Swanson. For a nanosecond, I was convinced. Then the confidence faded. I was scared. unsure. and not ready to admit the worst. What I didn’t know at the time was that I only had another seventeen months with him.
The news was good, everything was perfect, and the tumors shrank a little, until one day, they didn’t. It was late April 2020 when things got really bad. I came home to be with my family and Hospice was called shortly after. It was barely enough time to process anything, within two weeks he was gone. Nobody tells you losing a parent will shape your world forever.
THE PROCESSING
My father’s death wasn’t old age or a freak accident, but the sneaky ‘ole big C. stage four lung cancer. I mean sure, he’d been smoking 40+ years and worked in an old factory that was eventually torn down (think: breathing in chemicals daily for decades. Where were the face masks when we needed them then?)
Truth is, Ive masked my tears with paint droplets and have distracted my heart in my work as sense of accomplishment and pride. I’ve chugged through crafting gigs, freelance gigs, salary jobs making sure I keep uncomfortably busy juuuuussst because I wasn’t ready to face my new reality.
All of a sudden the holiday season cheer has hit and things seem impossible. I mean, it’s barely thanksgiving and I’m already a melted piece of the daughter I once was. I like to think the love shared will carry on. . . .and it probably will,. As for now, I’m newly cracked open, ready to let the healing begin, and all I can feel is hollow.
And you know what? That’s okay.
THE GRIEF - FIVE MONTHS LATER
I don’t think there’s a happy ending to this saga. There’s no nice way to push off grief like the way-too-nosey elder women in my small town. I am, however, lucky for this journey to grieve, learn and honor him. I am thankful that every time I see a blue (his favorite color) Jay (his name), I melt into a sign of reassurance that almost seems too perfectly orchestrated. realize this is the start of a lifetime of missing him, but everyday I am stronger for it.
So. If you’re still with me here, I’m finally writing this #therapeutic post the day before thanksgiving 2020. Of course, this marks the first holiday season without my dad. I’m no emotion meteorologist, but I expect some dark patches and waterworks for the next 5 weeks.
And that’s perfect. Because I think we all need to be a little more transparent with these hard emotions. I haven’t been acknowledging the grief, and that had made things horrible. I don’t know who will walk me down the isle one day, I don’t know hoe the future will feel without him. But I do know this journey gives you a fresh appreciation for the living, pulsing being you are, and if anything more, it makes you more brave.
Love you more, pops.