Fallout After Loss

My Dad passed away when I was a junior in high school. While I was only sixteen, I had the maturity to understand a little about grief and processing emotions. I never thought this shouldn’t have happened, and I did not argue with the reality of the situation. I accepted that life is unpredictable, we do not have any control over who goes and who stays, and my love for my Dad will always keep him alive in me. His physical absence did not dissolve my love for him, and death could not destroy the memories.

Recently, I have been reflecting on the year that followed the loss of Dad. It is fascinating to look back with the passing of time and a different perspective. I was able to share my feelings about my loss easily and openly. Maybe I am an old soul, but I knew there was power in accepting the grief and letting it flow. Some of my choices were questionable following the loss, but my ability to embrace and process my grief was on point.

Witnessing how we each processed the loss was fascinating. The experience was unique to each of us. My brother, who was in a rebellious period, spiraled. He got into trouble and quit going to class. He felt guilty about being home when my Dad died and not being able to prevent it. His guilt and volatile relationship with my Dad impeded his ability to process his emotions healthily.

Mom could not handle the discomfort and overwhelming grief she experienced inside the home, and she moved out of the house. You heard that right. Mom moved out and left my sister, nine years my senior, in charge. It is crazy to share this truth, but it is my truth. My sister, who was a mom by the time she was my age, preferred the role of classmate to interim parent. She was just one of the kids in my high school posse, and being nine years older, well, that had some additional perks for my social circle.

I reached out for support, journaled, and allowed myself to feel the pain. I also made a few bad choices. My brother raged and became defiant, and I wonder if he has ever come to terms with the loss of our Dad. My sister became slightly irresponsible and decided to live the teen years she missed out because she was raising babies. My Mom needed to escape anything that reminded her of my Dad. She rented an apartment with a friend. She worked and played. Mom volunteered and got involved in activities at my high school. This was a rarity in the 80s. Parents didn’t hover over us. Most were hands-off and out of sight.

As I attended the opera at the theater this past weekend, all these memories surfaced. While Mom loved the opera, we didn’t have discretionary income to spend on tickets. Courtesy of a paid mortgage, and life insurance, Mom now had a little jingle in her purse. She took me to the opera with her because I was the only one who she could convince to go. 

Mom agreed to chaperone a class trip to San Fransisco for a DECA Conference. She took all my friends to a fancy dinner at Fisherman’s Wharf. She bought a gorgeous brown suede coat with a fox fur collar. She loved that jacket and would wear it on our evenings out to dinner and an opera. She also bought me a Member’s Only messenger bag. It was a cherished possession for years. I felt like Dolly in her Coat of Many Colors carrying that black bag on my shoulder.

I was successful at navigating my grief functionally, and I also benefited from the dysfunction that surrounded me. My brother’s behavior and actions made my choices look like preschool playground antics. My sister had become my alibi, chauffeur, and supplier of alcohol for parties with friends, and I was getting Mom’s time and attention. More attention than this middle child had ever experienced.

The loss in the family was the same, and yet, it was completely different. None of us dealt with it the same. Our grief journey was different depending on the tools we had in our toolbox, the place we were in our lives, our emotional maturity, and our relationship with the man we had lost. The loss blew up the life we knew. It shattered our family unit. We all scrambled to find a way to survive and thrive the loss and create a new normal.

Grief, it’s like Glitter. Oh, what a mess it makes.

Patrick Droney