How I Began To Grieve Before My Dad Passed Away

In the month leading to my father’s passing, there was nothing but love between us. However, it wasn’t always like that. 

Our relationship was quite poor in the years preceding his tragic decline. I even refused to call him dad. 

He was a very dysfunctional individual. Often, his erratic behavior was caused by alcoholism and was the source of frequent family disputes. I blamed him and distanced myself, seeing him more as an enemy than a father. 

Despite the animosity, my attitude began to change once the prospect of his death became a likely possibility. 

That’s when my grieving process began, even though he hadn’t passed away yet.

I began feeling guilty and sad. Thinking to myself about the many things I could’ve done to prevent my father’s decline. The word “if” was engraved in my mind as I played endless scenarios of how things could’ve been different.

The memories of all the previous years of fighting came back and I realized how much time we both wasted.

It wasn’t all bad. I recall the times we played on my PlayStation 2 until midnight. The times he took me to play soccer or when he taught me how to use gym equipment. 

Memories of our past trips around the city and beyond, visits to the beach and the endless restaurant meals we had flooded my mind. All of a sudden, he didn’t seem that bad.

Despite my attempts to also remember the bad, the guilt devoured me. Luckily, he was still alive then. 

In my latter hospital visits, we began a beautiful forgiveness process that will forever be a highlight of my life.

We embraced the good moments and shared a level of transparent love reminiscent of the love I had for him when I was a young and innocent child. 

As the doctors spoke of his imminent death, I held on to the hope that he would survive. I wanted to deny reality by making desperate attempts to transfer him to other hospitals in hopes of better treatments or even the much needed liver transplant. 

I got angry and frustrated as all my attempts seemed to be futile. Each time an opportunity appeared for him to be relocated to a better facility, something would arise to deny it. 

After trying everything, my family settled on keeping him closer to us so we could visit him. 

I saw him two days prior to his death. His pain and agony was so visible.

He passed away in a morphine-induced sleep. That was the last time I saw him. Seeing him in a perpetual peaceful slumber gave me the tranquility I needed to end the month of anxious phone calls and hospital visits.

I realized that my new normal would be without him. His loss will leave a hole that will never be filled. Nevertheless, the process it took me to acknowledge and accept his passing was also the process that allowed me to see my father for what he ultimately was: my dad.