And this would be the last time my mum, my dad and me would be together.
Once, my father was the strongest person I knew.
He was the strongest person most people knew.
He liked boxing and had a thick Scottish accent.
He grew up rough in Glasgow.
Little more than a street thug.
In the 70s his peers nicknamed him the King of Newmarket because everyone knew him.
My dad was larger than life.
I still meet strangers that refer to me as Rabbies little girl.
Misael Nevarez
Its not hard to see the resemblance.
Apart from looking like him, apart from carrying his height, I was named after him.
Nothing stopped my dad from installing strength of character in me.
As I mentioned, I was 30 when Dad died.
Not so young that it devastated my childhood, but young enough.
I felt cheated out of getting to really know him as an adult.
They say when youre in your 20s youre still practically a child.
This was very true for me.
I dont think I made a proper adult decision until I hit 29.
It kills me to think he will never know who I marry or meet his grandchildren.
Or who I become as an adult.
Truthfully, I cant say if that feeling really goes away.
I dread weddings because I know it will end with me crying myself to sleep.
I watch the father/daughter dance or a beaming father give his daughter away and I shatter inside.
Firstly, I needed to pretend it wasnt happening.
You know how people always say dont bottle up your feelings?
Well sometimes, if they are too traumatic it’s crucial that you do exactly that.
Some time needs to pass before you’re able to even begin to process it.
I used to think, Well what am I meant to do?
Hold my life and my mothers life together as best I could.
They might say they do, but they dont.
They might talk about it with you and show sympathy, but youre expected to be functioning.
Youre expected to go to work and perform normally.
Youre expected to meet up with friends and do normal things.
Youre expected to get back into it.
Walking up to the entrance I had this feeling in my stomach that I didnt want to go.
I didnt know why and I ignored it.
I felt my breathing quicken and I realized I was having a panic attack.
I watched her Dad, so happy so god-damn-happy walk her down the aisle.
Tears welled up in my eyes.
I was sick inside.
There was no way I could be around people and I couldnt bring myself to attend the reception.
Me having a panic attack because I couldnt process the death of a parent wasnt a good enough excuse.
I had quietly excused myself as to not cause a scene but that obviously wasnt enough.
I was meant to be Ok by now.
I had a complicated relationship with my dad, you probably had one too.
This meant the grieving process was complicated.
As a teen, all we did was butt heads.
He was overbearing and strict and I was constantly fighting for a little freedom.
We fought right up until the week he went to the hospital for the last time.
I cannot deny that my life is calmer now.
My relationship with my Mother is even better.
I also cant deny that life is a lot easier now that were not looking after a sick person.
It was hard, really hard.
Again, I cant deny thats the way it all happened.
I realised a little late that Its OK to act like a brat, especially at the beginning.
As I said above, I thought I had to just get back to life.
A few weeks after it happened, I was put forward for a job interview.
A really good job interview, for a pretty big company.
Its what I do.
I went along for this interview and I COMPLETELY buckled.
Lesson learned: treat yourself gently; be your own best friend.
Dad did not die the way he deserved.
Dad did not get any of this.
He would struggle so fiercely when they dressed him and fall out of bed.
I had joined the dead parents club.
How the level of awkwardness correlates directly to the amount of time passed.
Regardless of how different you are, you have instantly bonded because there is no other experience like it.
Losing a parent or loved one is the worst fear come true.
There is something liberating in this.
When I was 11, my Granddad died at 72.
That was it for me.
My mother was devastated.
As the years rolled by I held onto the idea of 72 as an age to die.
As I got older it seemed like a younger and younger age to die.
Even as Dad got sicker, I held onto that age as a milestone for him to pass.
Before I was ready.
Although I doubt I would ever have been ready.
So one of my biggest worries has happened, and its a year later and I survived.
Ive had a years worth of life without him.
And I can honestly say its made me stronger.
So thats the majority of my first year.
And most importantly I lived through it.
