Look Back in Anger

Two days ago, on the eve of 2023, my dad died unexpectedly. He spent the last hours of his life in his home office space, a place where he often spent time listening to music, reading books, drawing and painting, or surfing the web. At some time in the early morning hours he must have laid his head down on the desk, feeling exhausted or tired, closed his eyes and took his final breath.

A few hours after he was discovered at his desk, my sister FaceTimed me distraught with the news that our dad was dead. I was shocked by the news. I couldn’t believe it.

I had planned to start 2023 taking the bull by the horns; focusing on moving forward after a year of grieving the loss of my mother. I didn’t expect 2023 to herald in more grief.

Instead, I’m filled with so many conflicting feelings: anguish, despair, shock, regret, sadness, and anger.

The loss of my father comes suddenly, but due to irrational behavior from other parties, I’ve been grieving the loss of my relationship with him since February, when we last spoke. I’d had hope that with time we’d reconcile eventually. I wasn’t even certain why we weren’t speaking or why a heated disagreement that should have been seemingly smallfry to all had become something so disastrously large enough to cause estrangement. None of it made any sense to me.

I put things aside because I was dealing with my own issues with grief and I didn’t want to compound my grief with more unnecessary suffering, so I stopped reaching out to him. I had hoped that he would eventually reach out to me when he was ready.

I thought we would then get the chance to look back and laugh at the stupidity of behavior that made no sense. I didn’t understand why we couldn’t just let it go.

Now, there is no way we can make amends or find a way forward from which to look back collectively and laugh. Instead, I look back on my own and cry. The door between the world where he existed and the world where he doesn’t is shut and I have no way to reconcile anything.

When you lose both of your parents, you cross a threshold. One in which you are no longer a child to anyone in this world. There is no one who unconditionally loves you just because you exist. You can no longer call up your mother or father and lean on them for support or advice. That part of your life is over.

I titled this entry “Look Back in Anger,” after the play by John Osborne, mainly because grief wallops you with emotions and one of them is anger. Because I feel my relationship with my father was taken from me out of spite, pride, and vindictiveness by others and now there is nothing I can do about it.

All I can do is go through the grieving process and accept it.

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Wunderkammer will be on hiatus until I’m ready to begin writing again. The hiatus could be a week or two. It could be a bit longer. I may or may not post regularly until then. I appreciate your patience at this time.

If you have a chance to talk to your loved ones, do it. Tell them how much you love them. Nothing in the future is promised to us. We only have now.