January 27, 2025
395 days without you
Hi Dad,
It’s me….again. I have a lot on my mind and no one to process it with, so I figured I could tell you. I mean what’s the worst that could happen? You actually don’t hear/see/know any of this and these words never amount to anything. At least it will make me feel better. Anyway, I had therapy today, and my therapist and I are really digging in to family dynamics and my place in the family now that you’re gone.
The thing is, Dad, that when you died, you not being there wasn’t the only thing that changed; everything else in our family changed, too. My relationship with Mom changed, my relationship with Alec changed, with Sarah, with Carter, and even with myself. It feels like every dynamic our family was used to has been flipped on its head, for me at least. Everything that felt balanced in our family, now seems off kilter—like I’m trying to find my footing, but something consistently knocks me off balance. You were what kept me balanced, Dad. You were my pair, while Alec and Mom were a pair, that’s always how it was growing up. That’s how we worked, how our family stayed balanced.
In therapy today, we talked about feeling emotionally safe to share my feelings and grief, and the truth is, I’m not sure I feel emotionally safe to talk about these things with many people. I constantly think back to the hours-long conversations we would have while I was home from school on Christmas break while you were on long-term disability leave, when it was just me and you and nothing else to do. We would start by watching a movie (probably some crime documentary), but we would always end up just talking. We talked about mental health, and forgiveness, and the past, and our faith. We talked about our similarities and about my relationship with my brother. We talked about how we grew and changed and what we hoped the future would bring. You would sit and listen to me talk for hours, and sometimes we would both end up in tears. You were my consistent, emotionally safe person, Dad. And now that you’re gone, I don’t know who I can consistently go to anymore.
I know what you’re thinking: “Claire, what about your family? What about your husband?” Carter is someone I feel I can talk to (God, I hope so, I married him), but I struggle with feeling like I’m a burden every time I try to let him in on how I’m actually doing. I think he could be doing, or would rather be doing, much better things with his time than listening to me yap and cry about how you died and things will never be the same. Plus, he’s knee-deep in student teaching now, so he’s always busy lesson planning and doing other adult things (yuck). I’m sure he doesn’t want the little time he actually gets to spend with me during the day to be listening to me talk about my feelings.
As for family, I know I could ultimately go to them to talk about anything, but like I said earlier, our grief and perspective on you and our new family dynamics are all so different. Sometimes hearing our differing views is harder than not saying anything in the first place. I feel like I’m the only one grieving you with no previous hurts or bitterness toward you in any way. All I have for you is love, Dad, nothing else. I feel pride thinking about how I’m your daughter and only gratefulness for how God completely restored our relationship. This is such a unique experience, and I feel so blessed to have only the best things to say about you. I’m not saying you were a saint, we all know you made plenty of mistakes (as we all do). But what I am saying is that you were the best Alan H. you could be to me, and words can’t describe how grateful I am to have had that experience with you. All that to say, it’s hard to talk about you being gone and how I’m coping with your absence when no one else views you in this specific way. Don’t get me wrong, everyone misses you and loves you and wishes you were here (obviously), but no one else had our special relationship. That’s why it’s hard for me to talk about and explain to other people—it’s hard for them to understand. Plus, now that I’m graduated, I don’t live right next to my best friends anymore. And some things you just don’t talk about over text message.
Don’t think all hope is lost, though. I met three amazing women at my church who I meet up with every Wednesday morning, and I feel safe to talk about these big emotions with them. I think it helps that they don’t know you or anyone else in our family. They only know, love, and support me, and sometimes that’s all I need. Their friendship is so precious to me, and I thank God I have them.
I will be okay, Dad, don’t worry about me (Do you worry in Heaven?). I just need some time to figure out these new dynamics and relationships and the best way to approach them. Trust me, my therapist and I are working on it.
