Not Supposed to Happen…

This isn’t supposed to happen.

You’re not supposed to lose your Daddy at age 26.

You’re not supposed to spend an agonizing hour picking the perfect Father’s Day card, not knowing whether this could be the last card you ever give him, only to have him go the very next day, before he even had had a chance to read it.

You’re not supposed to get that call, the one that means you need to come – tonight.

You’re not supposed to wonder if he could hear you at the very end, like everyone said he could.

You’re not supposed to fix your eyes on his chest for hours at a time, wondering if this breath would be his last.

You’re not supposed to to hold his hand, the same hand that squeezed yours sooo tight just a few days before, and know that he will never squeeze back again.

You’re not supposed to wonder why or how this is happening, when just 2 days ago you were watching TV and reading together, and holding hands… and he was okay. Not healthy, but good, with at least a few more months or even years to go.

You’re not supposed to watch your Mom break down because she just lost her best friend of 44 years, and she doesn’t know how she’s going to make it through the next few days.

You’re not supposed to think back on all those things that people say they think when a loved one dies – that they think it’s a mistake, that he’s just somewhere else, but he’ll be back – and really and truly know exactly what that feels like.

You’re not supposed to be jealous of your sister, because she got 11 more years with him than you did, because she got to dance with him at her wedding, and walk down the aisle with him.

You’re not supposed to look at your 7 month old niece, laughing and smiling, and burst into tears because he won’t get to make her laugh, or play bucking bronco in the pool, or watch her grow up.

You’re not supposed to have to wonder how 40 pictures could ever do his 67 years on Earth justice.

You’re not supposed to wonder why the world seems to continue on, as if nothing happened, as if your world hasn’t come crashing down around you.

You’re not supposed to look around at everyone else and think “Do they know what just happened? Do they know what a wonderful person just left us? Do they know that I will never be the same? Do they know that I will never be whole again, that there will always be a piece of me missing?”

You’re not supposed to question if you will ever be completely happy again, because right now, it just doesn’t seem like it.

You’re not supposed to see him everywhere, in everything, and yet yearn so badly to see him again.

You’re not supposed to feel empty, to feel nothing, and to feel like you’re going to burst with so much emotion, love, pain, and sadness at the same time.

You’re not supposed to know in your brain that he is gone forever, but not comprehend in your heart and soul what this really means.

None of these things are supposed to happen.

But they do happen – they are happening.

And when it happens, I have to welcome each and every awful feeling for a moment, and then quietly ask it to leave to make room for happy memories, for feelings of gratitude.

Because even though I wasn’t supposed to lose my Daddy after only 26 short years, I had twice what he had with his Daddy.

And even though I only had him for a short time, I experienced so much more love, and lessons, and laughter than most daughters get in a lifetime, with a man more intelligent, more hardworking, more humble, more patient, and more loving than most all other men.

And I have to be grateful that he left us peacefully, without pain or distress, and that we were all there with him, talking to him and holding his hand and telling him how much we love him; grateful that his good times far outnumbered his bad times, and that he will not suffer like so many other people with the same disease have and will.

I have to be remember that he was lucky – most people with his disease are diagnosed so early, before they even live – he lived a full life. He married the love of his life when he was 23, he loved his job, he traveled, he enjoyed a few great years of retirement, and he raised 2 wonderful daughters.

And even though he’s gone, I have to grab those moments when I can feel his hand on my shoulder, or hear him in the thunder, knowing that it’s his way of saying “I’m still here, I love you, it will be okay” and hold on to them for as long as possible.

I have to find a way to continue making him a part of my life, in any way possible.

And I have to know in my heart how much he loves me, and is proud of me, and how much I love him, and am proud of him.

when you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

{ kahlil gibran }


6 thoughts on “Not Supposed to Happen…

  1. Hi, This is my first time at your blog and this just brought me to tears. I am so terribly sorry for you loss. I’ll keep you in my thoughts and prayers because these kinds of things, whether expected or not, are never ever easy. *hugs*

  2. Janene,

    I’m trying to find the right words here…but mostly I wish I could just give you a big hug. I know the loss of my brother and other close friends and family, but the loss of a father can’t be compared. He must have been so proud to know you had run your first half marathon and he will be with you in spirit in the coming days, months and years. Words can’t make this feel any better right now, but we’re out here, feeling the ache in your heart through your words. This is a lovely way to honor him.


  3. No words an truly describe the pain I have in my heart for you, Janette, & your Mom. Your Dad was like a 2nd Dad for me. Because your sister and I were so close I got to experience the essence of your Dad’s soul. Yep we did bronco in the pool when we took “a dip,” he was the bad guy when we played in the play house, we sat in the garden and ate strawberries and pees, we helped him plant the tree on the right side of the driveway, we ran around the railroad tracks in the back yard while your Dad chased us, we played soccer on the same team when he was the Assistant Coach, and so much more. It was more than an honor to have known your Dad and my heart breaks that the disease took so much away from him no matter how full his life was. I will say though he may not have been at your wedding in body, but he was there in spirit for every moment. He was the quiet proud Dad beaming from ear to ear with a heart full of love and pride. The things of his that you had at your wedding was more than perfect. I recognized his ties, I saw the locket in your hand, and most importantly his jacket on his seat during the ceremony. He was there even though we couldn’t see him. Janene I wish you and Ian the best and your Dad will always be a part of my heart too. Much love, Sherry

  4. Pingback: The Marathon, Two Months Later « One Run at a Time

  5. Pingback: Notice the Little Things – #31Adventures «

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s