Mmkay, so. As I write this, it's Father's Day, but I'm not sure when or if I'll post it. Been thinking about doing this post for a while, but I get embarrassed and stop, or I think people might think I'm writing it for attention or pity - not the case. Just feels like it's something I have to tackle for me. If I do post this and you continue to read, please just pretend like it never happened and we can get on with our lives and without (my) embarrassment.
Before this whole post turns into one of those ambiguous social media statuses that prompts "U OK, hun? DM me!" responses, I'll explain. I want to write a post about what it's like to lose a parent at a young age. Sorry.
I know I'm not alone in this experience by a long shot, but I don't feel like it's something people who go through it talk about very much. I know I don't out loud. My dad died in 1997 in a car accident - I was 9 years old, and my mum, the poor sod, had to take my sister and I out of school (I was making an angle measuring thing out of paper that also doubled up as a crocodile if you squinted hard and made it talk, which is what I was doing before I was pulled away from maths) and deliver the news to us while very pregnant with our littlest sister. Obviously, that kind of news does change your life pretty significantly. I worked out today that it's been 21 years and 2 days (at the time of writing) since that day, so I'm going to share what that's been like and what I've learned from losing a parent as a kid:
1. A "lost" parent is the ultimate conversation stopper.
When getting to know someone - a new friend, work colleague, etc. etc, very occasionally the topic turns to family and I'm asked "So what does your mum/dad do?" or something along those lines. I'm 30 now and this still makes me anxious; when I've told people in the past that I've lost a parent, the panic in their eyes as they try to think of what to say to undo the awkwardness that's sprung up between us like I've just placed a footlong rubber dildo on the table makes my guts lurch. I want to apologise profusely for the conversational dildo and run away, and so I tend to start talking really, really fast about anything I possibly can to put as big a distance between us and the topic as possible. I think this works...question mark?
Also, why do we feel the need to say we've lost someone, like we've accidentally dropped them behind a radiator? Weird choice of words, but it's less abrasive than "Well, my mum is a caretaker and my dad is dead. What do your parents do?"
2. Grief is a sneaky fucker.
Grief never goes away. I'm nearly the age that my dad was when I dropped him behind life's proverbial radiator, but the fact can still hit me like a piano falling from a third storey window. As time passes,the gaps between these bouts of ugly-crying expand quite a bit, but there's always something waiting in the wings to pounce on you and shove you back into that fun place.
As a teen, it only took the right combination of hormones, self pity and cheap cider to do the job (I've traumatised a handful of friends and one very unlucky but patient boyfriend with sporadic displays of emotional breakdown and for that I can only apologise and hope that it gave you a good anecdote or two), but as I get older, the grief gets sneakier. Its most recent attack came when I was shown a lovely picture of my dad smiling for the camera, and when my sister turned it over, it had "photo taken by Becky" written on the back - he was smiling at baby me. Cue three days of surprise sobbing. Such fun.
3. Sometimes you feel like you're mourning a fictional character.
Like I said, my dad passed away when I was 9. At that age, you don't really know anyone all that well. You're too focused on learning the names of all the dinosaurs and flying off hills on your bike without a helmet on to actually get to know the many facets of a person's character. I occasionally feel weird about missing my dad because what if I'm missing someone who doesn't actually reflect who I think he is? Here are a few things I remember about him:
I'll leave it there - tried my best not to wang on. Thanks for letting me get that post out of my system and for reading (and, in advance, for never mentioning that you have to me in real life...). Normal service resumes next post, where I'll probably talk about my weird foot and make jokes about snack foods as per usual.
Hope all the excellent dads, step dads, grandads and father figures (male, female, neither and both) have had a day as excellent as they are! Keep on dadding, daddos! =)
![]()
Before this whole post turns into one of those ambiguous social media statuses that prompts "U OK, hun? DM me!" responses, I'll explain. I want to write a post about what it's like to lose a parent at a young age. Sorry.
I know I'm not alone in this experience by a long shot, but I don't feel like it's something people who go through it talk about very much. I know I don't out loud. My dad died in 1997 in a car accident - I was 9 years old, and my mum, the poor sod, had to take my sister and I out of school (I was making an angle measuring thing out of paper that also doubled up as a crocodile if you squinted hard and made it talk, which is what I was doing before I was pulled away from maths) and deliver the news to us while very pregnant with our littlest sister. Obviously, that kind of news does change your life pretty significantly. I worked out today that it's been 21 years and 2 days (at the time of writing) since that day, so I'm going to share what that's been like and what I've learned from losing a parent as a kid:
1. A "lost" parent is the ultimate conversation stopper.
When getting to know someone - a new friend, work colleague, etc. etc, very occasionally the topic turns to family and I'm asked "So what does your mum/dad do?" or something along those lines. I'm 30 now and this still makes me anxious; when I've told people in the past that I've lost a parent, the panic in their eyes as they try to think of what to say to undo the awkwardness that's sprung up between us like I've just placed a footlong rubber dildo on the table makes my guts lurch. I want to apologise profusely for the conversational dildo and run away, and so I tend to start talking really, really fast about anything I possibly can to put as big a distance between us and the topic as possible. I think this works...question mark?
Also, why do we feel the need to say we've lost someone, like we've accidentally dropped them behind a radiator? Weird choice of words, but it's less abrasive than "Well, my mum is a caretaker and my dad is dead. What do your parents do?"
2. Grief is a sneaky fucker.
Grief never goes away. I'm nearly the age that my dad was when I dropped him behind life's proverbial radiator, but the fact can still hit me like a piano falling from a third storey window. As time passes,the gaps between these bouts of ugly-crying expand quite a bit, but there's always something waiting in the wings to pounce on you and shove you back into that fun place.
As a teen, it only took the right combination of hormones, self pity and cheap cider to do the job (I've traumatised a handful of friends and one very unlucky but patient boyfriend with sporadic displays of emotional breakdown and for that I can only apologise and hope that it gave you a good anecdote or two), but as I get older, the grief gets sneakier. Its most recent attack came when I was shown a lovely picture of my dad smiling for the camera, and when my sister turned it over, it had "photo taken by Becky" written on the back - he was smiling at baby me. Cue three days of surprise sobbing. Such fun.
3. Sometimes you feel like you're mourning a fictional character.
Like I said, my dad passed away when I was 9. At that age, you don't really know anyone all that well. You're too focused on learning the names of all the dinosaurs and flying off hills on your bike without a helmet on to actually get to know the many facets of a person's character. I occasionally feel weird about missing my dad because what if I'm missing someone who doesn't actually reflect who I think he is? Here are a few things I remember about him:
So, yeah - doesn't exactly convey a rich tapestry of a human personality, does it? One thing I did learn on a recent trip to my paternal grandparents' (that I left WAY too long to do) was that as a child, he once tried to hide a slab of butter under his hat and was busted when it started melting down his face despite his vigorous protestations that he didn't know where the butter had gone. Despite how little I know about him in the grand scheme of things, at least that story confirms that we're definitely from the same gene pool.
- When asking if we could do something/go somewhere, he'd respond infuriatingly with a "probably"instead of a simple yes or no.
- He must've had a good sense of humour, because he laughed with me at the fart joke part of the Lion King's 'Hakuna Matata' with me, because, duh, fart jokes are hilarious.
- He was halfway decent at doodling - a skill I coveted as a frizzy haired midget.
- He put about as much thought into his tattoos as I currently do (i.e none - one of them was just his name. Jeff. Who gets "Jeff" tattooed on them, even if they're called Jeff? Come on, Jeff, mun!)
- He was late. A lot.The irony that he has now achieved being late in multiple senses of the word isn't lost on me.
I'll leave it there - tried my best not to wang on. Thanks for letting me get that post out of my system and for reading (and, in advance, for never mentioning that you have to me in real life...). Normal service resumes next post, where I'll probably talk about my weird foot and make jokes about snack foods as per usual.
Hope all the excellent dads, step dads, grandads and father figures (male, female, neither and both) have had a day as excellent as they are! Keep on dadding, daddos! =)
Jeff Taunton - the man who sat by and smiled while his daughters were cruelly forced to pose in puffy, flowery balls of velour and static (I did kind of love that dress, and it probably wouldn't take a lot of coercion to get me into a similar one now. Don't judge.
