Seventeen years ago, my father and I went to Austin for the day. It was Good Friday and we had planned to visit the University of Texas but the rainfall was torrential. As we were driving south on Lamar Boulevard, my father’s car careened out of control at a spot that was particularly prone to flooding. The car spun around and everything was a blur of headlights and I saw my life flashing before my eyes. But, rather than swerving head-on into oncoming traffic, my father deftly steered out of the skid and crashed into the yield sign that marked his intended turn.
Neither we, nor the car, were hurt. The yield sign didn’t make it. We casually backed up and slowly went on our way.
Not long after that day, my father passed away after a brutal battle with melanoma.
My father was many things but first and foremost, he was the driving force in my life from day one. Without him in my life, I would spin out of control.
Watching him go through his illness was traumatic in itself, but losing him was truly unthinkable. I was completely helpless to stop my seemingly invincible father slowly and painfully wasted away after rounds of brutal chemo, radiation, and brain surgery. The giant that was my father dwindled to a skeleton as the cancer ate away at him.
I was a teenager at the time. I should have been carefree and having fun like the teens in every great ‘80s movie. It’s hard, however, to be carefree your dad is dying before you.
The reality of his impending death hit me when I signed the do not resuscitate order for my father. He was going to die. I had just graduated from high school and was about to leave for college, and I was going to do those things ALONE. I fell apart as the loneliness consumed me. I was surrounded by a loving and supportive family, but I still felt like I was in a black hole.
Two weeks after my dad passed away, I left home to start my freshman year at the University of Texas. I didn’t really want to leave home but I could hear his voice in my head telling me not to give up on his account. It was a very difficult and lonely year. People tried to befriend me in my dorm—they all knew I had just lost my father—but I kept to myself in my dark dorm room or went home every chance I could get. I made excellent grades, but otherwise, my life was careening out of control.
I resented my father for abandoning me. I resented my family for the way things were handled. I HATED myself for the things I said or didn’t say to him. I was angry with God for taking my father away but letting bad people live long lives. What kind of cruel joke was this? I tried to put up a tough front to the outside world, but really I was more vulnerable to people who wished me harm than I realized.
I’m not gonna lie . . . my life sucked for a good long time. There’s not a lot people can do to console someone when you shut them out. Maybe not everyone is like me, but it was a journey I had to go through on my own. I talked about my experiences to anyone who would listen, but I wouldn’t listen to them. I was stubborn and I was numb.
It took almost a decade of hurt and anger to get to the point where the grief isn’t so acute. I still miss him terribly and cry when a certain song comes over the radio, but now his absence from my life is something I live with. I’ve experienced things that are even more harrowing than losing a loved one, but that’s another story.
As I faced my trials alone, I finally realized that I really wasn’t alone. My father was with me. I could hear his voice in my head giving me courage and strength. He was watching me. God was watching me. Their presence is all around me and I can feel it now. I can see it in my son’s face and hear it when my brother opens his mouth and says something silly.
Death isn’t necessarily an end of a life, but rather the change of state of a soul. We can’t see or touch the people we have lost, but they are here with us . . . their blood flows in our veins and their spirit lingers.
I still live in Austin and I frequently drive down Lamar Boulevard. The sign my father hit all those years ago has yet to be replaced. It makes me smile when I pass and I hope it’s never replaced!
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