My father passed away last Wednesday after a short battle with
Parkinson’s disease. He was only in palliative care for less than a week
before he died, having moved into an aged care facility just two months
prior. His health deteriorated rapidly tho...
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My father passed away last Wednesday after a short battle with
Parkinson’s disease. He was only in palliative care for less than a week
before he died, having moved into an aged care facility just two months
prior. His health deteriorated rapidly those last few days, and I said
my goodbye on the Saturday before his passing. I even have a picture
from this time. Grief is complex and personal, touching each of us
differently. The famous stages of grief – denial, anger, bargaining,
depression, and acceptance – were originally applied to those facing
their own mortality, not grieving loved ones. Somehow that changed over
time, and we now use those stages to understand mourning too. But it’s
not so simple or linear. People oscillate between emotions, sometimes
feeling several at once. For me, there is acceptance of my father’s
passing, mixed with relief his suffering is over. But there is no anger
or depression yet, though it may come. Our relationship was complicated.
He was not one for heartfelt talks or confiding emotions. We had little
in common, divergent worldviews and interests. He was not my closest
confidant; we struggled connecting on a deeper level. Does that make him
a bad father? No, just a product of his generation and life experiences.
But it leaves me unsure how to feel about his loss. There is sadness,
yes, but also distance. I mourn the relationship we could have had as
much as the one we did. Still, his passing has affected me in unexpected
ways. My sleep is disrupted, concentration wavering. I feel foggy, prone
to mistakes and forgetfulness. These are only visible in action and
behaviour. Minor frustrations set me off. And apologies to those
concerned. This hypersensitivity and emotional deregulation catches me
off guard. Grief manifests itself in the body and mind, even when the
heart feels conflicted. The loss of a parent, however imperfect, shakes
us at a core level. Right now, I have the feeling of a lump in my
throat. It represents the loss of our youth, of the version of ourselves
who still had a father. It is perhaps a reminder of our own mortality.
Our bodies rebel against these existential threats through
sleeplessness, agitation, and lapses in focus. And apologies to those
concerned.
Welcome to the Grief and Loss section
