The Thing About Grief
Writing about What I’m Going Through Makes Me Feel Like a Fraud
Dead Dad Diaries
I haven’t written much since Dad died. Monday will mark the one month anniversary of his death, and since that time, I think I’ve written three or four short pieces. All were about this same subject, and I didn’t want to seem totally obsessed and hyperfocused on something as depressing as death. So, I decided to write about something else. Except, I was totally obsessed and hyperfocused on Dad’s death. It was literally all I thought about, so writing about something less death-y was a total fail. And because I didn’t want to be a Debbie Downer, I just didn’t write anything at all.
After a couple of weeks, I started being able to read stuff other people wrote about NOT death, off and on. I also reread what I had written about eleventy billion times, and it all made me very uncomfortable. It didn’t match up. It didn’t make sense. First, I was broken but took great comfort in the past year of Dad’s life and how he and I had grown closer during that time. Then, I was back to bringing up the past and how he had hurt me so much that I was unable to connect with all the “wonderful person” stories at his funeral.
I felt like I was somehow being fundamentally dishonest about either my feelings, or reality, or both. I was afraid to write more and further contradict myself. But, today I decided to say “fuck it”, because if I don’t unload some of what is in my head, it will explode, and since I’m a single mom that means one of my kids will have to clean up the mess.
So, think what you will about my dead dad diaries.
It can’t be as bad as the exploded head scenario. The children thank you.
