Learning To Cope (Article I posted on Gather)
Most of my friends and family treat me with special caution. "How are you?" They ask with hesitant smiles. "Fine, I'm fine." is always my reply, because what am I supposed to do, tell them the truth? Then they quickly exhale with relief and quickly change the subject. I can't really blame them: They'd known my father well, and his death must have been almost as shocking to them as it was to me.
My best friend recently told me about the thought that he can't put out of his mind: "I keep telling myself, 'Oh my God. If it can happen to Katie's father, it could happen to mine.'" The few times I tried talking on the phone with my friend about my dad, I started sobbing uncontrollably and had to hang up. Because I don't know who to turn to for help, I try to force myself into calmness. Stop being a baby, I scold myself. Grow up. Be strong.
I'm becoming angry and defensive. I'm growing furious at the cardiologist for not detecting anything after a failed stress-test months before. I get mad at my aunt for asking me to do household tasks my father had once done. I get mad at mom for moving, but I dare not tell her. I snap at her for no reason. I even snap at people I barely know. Any time a well-meaning stranger said, "I'm sorry," after hearing that my father has died, I spit back: "What are you sorry for? It's not your fault."
I watch my friends and strangers do things with their fathers that I have to do alone. Other girls are starting to view their fathers more as friends, which I now resent, because I will never get that chance. Most of all, I am angry with myself, for having fought so much with my father and for failing to make his life a little easier, as I imagine, in retrospect, that I could have.
My father always told me all people are fundamentally equal, but his death has taught me this isn't true. The world feels divided into those who have fathers and those who do not. Meaghan Corcoran, my brother and I are the only ones I know in the latter category. I feel ashamed of my fractured family, and I don't want to be pitied.
Among my new friends I make references to "my family" rather than "my parents". When my friends pick up the phone to call their fathers I pretend to be absorbed in something else. Alonzo asked if I wanted to shop for Father's Day on our hour break- he forgot, or I don't think he knows what happened. I lied and said I had other errands to run.
I feel like even more of a visitor in my father's house since his death. I'll admit I'm looking for a boyfriend who will "father" me, and get angry or upset when they don't. I do feel much more self-sufficient than my friends because I've had to take care of myself since an early age. Someday I think the loss will toughen me to the point where I'll feel capable of handling just about anything that comes my way.
Sometimes I feel like crying when I see a father and daughter together. I wish I could go vent to him when I am upset. I wish he could meet my boyfriend. I wish he could walk me down the aisle when I get married. I'd even like to hear him tell me my shirt is too tight, just one more time.
It's been five months. Someday hopefully I will learn to live with this, since it's not something I will ever "get over". Hopefully it will stop being something awful that happened to me and start being something that is a part of me. That's when I'll be able to think about my father without automatically feeling guilty or getting angry, or collapsing into tears.
Day by day I am learning to cope, and one day closer to seeing him again. I can't wait to hear him laugh, I always thought he had a great laugh. I just hope someday I'll accomplish something great that will really make him proud of me. I love him, and I miss him more than anyone will ever know.
My best friend recently told me about the thought that he can't put out of his mind: "I keep telling myself, 'Oh my God. If it can happen to Katie's father, it could happen to mine.'" The few times I tried talking on the phone with my friend about my dad, I started sobbing uncontrollably and had to hang up. Because I don't know who to turn to for help, I try to force myself into calmness. Stop being a baby, I scold myself. Grow up. Be strong.
I'm becoming angry and defensive. I'm growing furious at the cardiologist for not detecting anything after a failed stress-test months before. I get mad at my aunt for asking me to do household tasks my father had once done. I get mad at mom for moving, but I dare not tell her. I snap at her for no reason. I even snap at people I barely know. Any time a well-meaning stranger said, "I'm sorry," after hearing that my father has died, I spit back: "What are you sorry for? It's not your fault."
I watch my friends and strangers do things with their fathers that I have to do alone. Other girls are starting to view their fathers more as friends, which I now resent, because I will never get that chance. Most of all, I am angry with myself, for having fought so much with my father and for failing to make his life a little easier, as I imagine, in retrospect, that I could have.
My father always told me all people are fundamentally equal, but his death has taught me this isn't true. The world feels divided into those who have fathers and those who do not. Meaghan Corcoran, my brother and I are the only ones I know in the latter category. I feel ashamed of my fractured family, and I don't want to be pitied.
Among my new friends I make references to "my family" rather than "my parents". When my friends pick up the phone to call their fathers I pretend to be absorbed in something else. Alonzo asked if I wanted to shop for Father's Day on our hour break- he forgot, or I don't think he knows what happened. I lied and said I had other errands to run.
I feel like even more of a visitor in my father's house since his death. I'll admit I'm looking for a boyfriend who will "father" me, and get angry or upset when they don't. I do feel much more self-sufficient than my friends because I've had to take care of myself since an early age. Someday I think the loss will toughen me to the point where I'll feel capable of handling just about anything that comes my way.
Sometimes I feel like crying when I see a father and daughter together. I wish I could go vent to him when I am upset. I wish he could meet my boyfriend. I wish he could walk me down the aisle when I get married. I'd even like to hear him tell me my shirt is too tight, just one more time.
It's been five months. Someday hopefully I will learn to live with this, since it's not something I will ever "get over". Hopefully it will stop being something awful that happened to me and start being something that is a part of me. That's when I'll be able to think about my father without automatically feeling guilty or getting angry, or collapsing into tears.
Day by day I am learning to cope, and one day closer to seeing him again. I can't wait to hear him laugh, I always thought he had a great laugh. I just hope someday I'll accomplish something great that will really make him proud of me. I love him, and I miss him more than anyone will ever know.