It just had to happen. I've been struggling with it for a while, I wanted to, but I couldn't. Where I often have no trouble finding the words, they don't want to come now. Too difficult, too confusing, too sad and probably too confrontational. The storm left deep marks and changed everything that was once taken for granted.
My father became ill and died within six months. My father, who was never sick, always working, just lay there in the hospital bed, fighting an adversary that was impossible to beat. That soon became clear.
Suddenly we talked about cancer, chemotherapy, metastases, pain management, palliative care and dying. And in between we tried to enjoy ourselves. Enjoying what was still there, the time we still had, the moments we were together.
It became a kind of race against time and sometimes even against our better judgement. We pushed the limit of the permissible day by day, without thinking about what would come tomorrow. But of course that ended somewhere. The body was tired, the mind empty from fighting. And then there was silence. And it remained silent. Deafening silence.
The funny thing was that I finally lived up to that moment. It was terrible to see what the disease did to my father, he had not deserved it. But it was debilitating not only for him, but also for us, for my mother. In a strange way it was a kind of relief, the suffering was over.
I thought. Because then my suffering, our suffering, really began. The loss is so mercilessly great that it is difficult for me to put it into words. When I close my eyes I can almost touch him, feel and smell his perfume. I can hear him talking to my kids and making fun of them. Almost every night I see him in my dreams. But it's just not all. I want to ask him what he thought of the cremation, if he saw who was there. I want to tell him I miss him, show him that we finally have the beautiful porch we've wanted for so long, and I want his advice, the way he always gave it. I want it to go back to the way it used to be.
But I want the impossible and that frustrates me. That is very frustrating. The loss of someone who was such an essential part of my existence almost physically hurts. And I wonder if missing your father will ever get used to. Maybe I don't even want to get used to it. Because in this lack he is close by and follows me on my path through this life.
