This year is the tenth anniversary of Dad’s death, and also the sixth anniversary of us first meeting Mini. And I still find it difficult to cope, no not cope with, but just get through this day. There is a perverse kind of guilt…that’s the best way I can describe what I feel. Let me explain…but please bear in mind that this post is self-indulgent of me because it’s not about Mini and his feelings, this is all me.
This should be a happy momentous day. A joyous occasion on which we should remember that first day of meeting our son. But I feel immense guilt at not being able to celebrate it in any way shape or form. Don’t get me wrong, we do semi-celebrate becoming a family, but on the day it became official. We remember and talk about the day we first met Mini, but I can’t let myself enjoy those memories because the sadness for my dad is overwhelming. Around this time of year it consumes me. Perhaps the season doesn’t help – it’s dark, cold, wet and miserable, and that reflects my mood absolutely to a T. So….guilt.
Guilty also because I so wish I could have helped my father. Guilty because I couldn’t stop him taking the steps he did. Guilty because I couldn’t make him want to stay, and that I should have tried harder to stop him. Guilty because of my feelings of ‘not enough’ (I talked about that in my last post on this subject)…yes I feel very guilty for feeling all of these things, because ultimately, it wasn’t and isn’t about me. It’s about my dad, and how he felt.
That’s quite a lot of guilt isn’t it? And I know that it probably doesn’t make a lot of sense, and if I think about it, then there is no need for me to feel this way. But I do feel this way.
On top of that I start to feel ashamed of feeling this way. And then I spiral down into a dark place where there is not only guilt and shame, but sadness, fear, loss, grief, dark thoughts, bad dreams, tears, despair, and often…hysterical sobbing.
Until I started writing this blog – 2 years ago – I didn’t realise just how much I missed my dad or just how much I still need to grieve. Do I though? Do I need to grieve, or is this how it will always be? How do you know when you’ve finished grieving? Does it move on to acceptance…ever? I thought I’d got there a few years ago but do you ever accept the loss of someone you love?
I wish, more than anything that Dad could have met my children, or at least known of our plans. He knew we were having trouble conceiving, but we didn’t decide until later that we wanted to adopt…he never knew about Mini. And then of course, he never knew that we did actually end up conceiving and having Dollop.
I don’t want to churn up and rewrite the same thing year after year, but that Dad’s death and meeting Mini are so intertwined in date and in my mind, I wonder if I’ll ever move on from these feelings?
These feelings overwhelm me. I’ve allowed some of them to spill out onto paper, thank you for reading them.