On Letting Go

I will never recount publicly details of the night my dad passed away. For starters its too painful, and secondly that’s just not the way I’d like my dad to be remembered.

But to answer some of the most common questions: yes, I was there when he took his last breath. And no we did not know my dad was going to pass away that night, in fact, he had just been assesed by nurses, and doctors and we were told he looked strong, and would possibly have a week or longer. Yes, my dad was placed in at-home hospice care. And yes cancer does not only impact the ill person but the family as a whole. I will never forget the words of a doctor while my dad was recovering from surgery “your entire life is about to change” he was right on! Our life forever changed.

I have never experienced a hurt so profound. A heartbreak so deep, so much so that everytime I get a hint of a memory my heart breaks all over again, And then I recover, because it is not that I have not accepted my dad is no longer earth bound, because I have, what I can’t believe is that he now will never physically be here, that every birthday, every celebration just makes it that much more real.

My dad was the hardest worker I have ever met, he never had a day off, and when he did he would not know what to do with himself, he’d paced back and forth, or in true Carlos Veloz form, he’d put on his white button down work shirt, and blue jeans (I think this provided him some sort of comfort). He’d drive up to our house for the day right after work, and leave the very next morning because “mami hay que hacer las cosas” translation: “mami I have to do the things” (I have many nicknames but my dad would call me mami or mamaita - I still whisper this to myself when I think about him).

Grief has certainly been a roller coaster of of emotions for me. There are days in where I find myself well, and other days in where just any memory of my dad places me in a very emotional place. And oddly enough I always ask myself if he is doing okay. It is a very odd thought because all I want to know is if he is doing well. Obviously not in a physical sense but my mind always wonders this and it is a constant question.

My dad comes to me in my dreams. In the first dreams he never spoke to me he was always quiet, and that was very much my dad. Always very quiet and observing. In my dreams, same thing he smiles, and looks very happy. Most of the time he is sitting down and observing (just as he did). One of the first dreams I had with my dad in it, he had body guards around me, it was weird, and in the dream I was so upset with him because I didn’t want to be “guarded.” Looking back now I wonder if it was a sign of him letting me know that he is protecting me. You know a dad being a dad…

I always ask him for a sign like “okay daddy, if you’re okay drop a dish!” That has never happened, but Im sure if it would I would completely freak out, hahaha! Or who knows, maybe I wont?

My dad and I had a wonderful conversation and during it, he did express that his body just couldn’t keep going with the chemotherapy. He expressed that his body felt tired. Looking back I think my dad knew he was ready to go meet our maker. He was ready to go home. I asked him have you spoken to God, and he replied ‘Everyday, every instant” and I said well, what did God say? He looked at me, smiled, and said “That’s between God and I.” And that brings me so much peace because I know that somehow God spoke to him and let him know everything would be just fine.

More often than not, I am reminded that my dad is not physically with us, and it hits like a ton of bricks. My stomach sinks and sorrow sets in. It’s very strange because as I stated earlier, I have accepted the fact that my dad is gone, but knowing he’s not with us does not mean I do not miss him, that I don’t wish he was here, and more importantly that I could never call him him or hug him again.

Grieving is very lonely, some times it feels as if though one has to hide it because it feels as if some treat it like a stigma. Like “are you still not over that?” and the ones that like me have never gone through great loss will never understand until it hits close to home. Why do I say this? Because I know it first hand. My husband experienced loss at a very young age, at 17 he lost his mother to ovarian cancer, at 35 he lost his dad to congestive heart failure (c.h.f.), and while at the time I felt sad for him, and I couldn’t imagine going through such a loss, I simply didn’t grasp the massive pain the person is in. Until, I experienced it first hand. I now know and can relate to the person’s loss at a different level. The pain, the heartbreak, the succumbing to accepting the person is no longer with us.

I’m going to assume that if you’re reading this blog is because you have probably experienced loss, and are currently grieving. And one of the questions that I had was “When will I accept that my person is no longer here?” Well, you probably will not. But, you will learn to live with it. The pain will become less severe, and you will smile at the memories, or you will cry at the memories. But with less pain, and with more appreciation. I do both, I can (more often that not) look at the picture of my dad that’s now hanging on our fridge and smile at it, and think of how fun that day was (a picture of my dad with my brother in law, and nephew in law), and laugh looking at it. Other days… I get emotional. I get angry, and I cry because I cannot believe that I will never get to experience that contagious laugh. My dad’s laugh was the best laugh it truly was contagious, and I miss it. Every single day.

So how do you deal with grief? While there is no single way to deal with it, or a guide to follow. I can tell you this… You just face it head on. You cry, and scream, and smile. And do it all over again.

For me is the fact that I saw firsthand how horrible cancer is. What it does to a person. And how hard my dad fought. And how tired he was. And knowing that he no longer has to go through it again, that he is pain free, and resting. That brings me so much peace. That, is what I am able to accept. That my dad is healed now.

If, you have learned anything from this post.I hope it is that grieving is not linear, that there is no way to go through loss with out feeling all the emotions. So please do, feel all the feels. And know that it is okay to cry, to be happy, to be angry, and to repeat it over and over.

Here’s the eulogy I wrote for my dad. My mom had to help me finish reading it, because I was so emotional, my legs were shaking, palms were sweating. Heart raising. As you can imagine… all the emotions.