It's been three weeks now since we lost Dad. This is a weird space for me because under any other circumstance, being able to say I saw my dad just three weeks ago would be exciting. I'm conscious, though, that the days and weeks since I last saw my dad are just going to pile up until they become years. Living away from family has conditioned me to live in the pattern of feeling sad at goodbyes but immediately looking forward to when I'll see my family members again. Goodbye for me has never really been goodbye. Other languages do this better-- in my life it's always been more like "auf wiedersehen" or "hasta luego." Maybe this is why I always say "bye" and almost never say the full "goodbye." Coming to terms with this goodbye really being for good has been difficult.
Even so, the feeling of loss is always with me. I thought that returning to Maryland might make Dad's death seem like it didn't happen, because I regularly go several days without hearing from Dad. I don't know where I got the idea that people wake up in the morning and feel sad when they remember that someone they love has died. Movies? Songs? For me this is an impossibility. I feel the loss inside me always-- there is never a moment when I don't feel it, even if I am not consciously thinking about it.
In his final days, Dad told me he wished he could make "this" easier for me, so I know he would be happy that I've been able to carry on with things fairly well. I know I am a words person, but I keep imagining the way I feel on a graph. If time was on the x axis, and mood was on the y axis, with x=0 being neutral mood, I feel like my baseline mood was always at something like a 3. Something 4 measurements "good" would take me up to 7 on the mood graph, and something 4 measurements "bad" would take me down to a -1. Now I feel like my baseline mood is re-calibrated at about -3. Vickie and Billy still make me laugh around the house. Seeing each of my close friends over lunch and coffee made me feel better. When I run into professors and classmates on campus who are genuinely happy to see me, my mood still improves. I still enjoy being engaged in my academic work. But now that my baseline is reset, something 4 measurements "good" only takes me up to a 1, and something 4 measurements "bad" takes me all the way down to -7. Since returning to my life here in Maryland, I feel like myself again, but I feel like myself in a different register.
Last night it occurred to me that this is probably very similar to the way Dad felt while living with what he knew would be terminal cancer. He seems to have dealt with it by consciously seeking out things that would move him up from his baseline mood and by always looking forward to the next thing, even though he could not know how many next things there would be. So that's what I'm working on now, too.
And thanks to everyone who has reached out to me through emails, calls, texts, notes, and visits. Even when I'm in a moment where your kind words and thoughtfulness only take me from a -6 to a -5, I appreciate your help with moving me upwards rather than downwards.
("After Loss, What Then?" is the afterword Judith Butler wrote for Loss: The Politics of Mourning. I haven't read it, and maybe some day I'll want to, but I'm not much in the mood to critically analyze what I'm feeling. Sidenote: Katie, do you know this anthology?)
As we've discussed many times, there are no good words - or any words - for these situations, but I;m still sending all my support and love your way.
ReplyDeleteI like the way you put loss in terms of a graph; it's succinct in a way that language of loss can't be (if that makes sense). There's a reason elegies get really long and really repetitive.
I am glad that I got to meet your dad, however briefly. Also, I ran into PM today, and he expressed concern and good wishes for you.
And I have that anthology on my office shelf :) Haven't read it yet, but it's on the docket for the next 2 weeks.
Sorry about the long comment,
Katie
P.S. Let's get together soon - I'll shoot you an email or stalk you on campus.
Thanks for the note, Katie. You only *think* you only knew my dad briefly. He was well acquainted with you through the stories. : )
ReplyDeleteReally, reading your writing is a joy. Thanks for continuing to blog even as you mourn.
ReplyDeleteSince you raised the subject of other languages, you might like to know that Spanish distinguishes between the types of missing you mention here. In Spanish, one can express that she misses another by saying "Te echo de menos." It essentially means "I lack you." To me this phrase has always sounded more permanent than another common alternative, "Te extraño," which connotes a more temporary physical and emotional distance, rather than a long-term separation. You note that you feel the loss of your dad continually and in a new way. While in the past you missed him in a "Te extraño" way, being merely geographically estranged, you now miss him in a "Te echo de menos" way. You lack him. You feel or are made less ("de menos") because of his absence. I wish it weren't so.
Anyway, it's a clever turn of phrase that at least acknowledges degrees of loss, but I know it's still a poor container for your grief. I hope you continue to find solace in the articulation and rearticulation of your dad's absence. All my love to you.