R.I.P SUPERMAN

“Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.” William Shakespeare. There is no grief like the grief that does not speak, says Henry Wordsworth. But then again, David Seltzer admits that for some moments in life, there are no words. For someone that can produce a thousand words a minute (^^,), my Dad’s death sure has me tongue tied. Everyone that knew me as Nat King Cole’s Natalie or Billy Ray’s Miley expected me to say something. I didn’t know what to say. And if I did, I felt perhaps that expressing my feelings would somehow make them more real, and thus, more unbearable. Personally, I have never enjoyed any form of interrogation, my friends know this about me (“,). Yah, the irony…=). I found myself running away from questions such as, “How did he die?” “How are you coping?” And other questions that made me want to scream, such as, “How was the funeral?” At the risk of sounding rude, I’d almost say out loud, “Dude! It’s a funeral, how do you think it was?!” (^^,). Everyone seems to have some idea about how you are supposed to feel, and some incredibly odd ones as well about how you “ought” to express it. Hearing all sorts of people describing what he meant to them as individuals was somewhat comforting and torturing all at the same time. Too bad no one ever gets to attend his own funeral. He would have loved the choir, the speeches…. Losing a father you were close to is something only those that have been through it can relate to. Anne Lamott put it this way, “You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. Its like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly –that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.” You have a thousand and one nameless emotions piercing through you at once. And while life goes on all around you, your world seems to have stopped. Pain that is so harsh that you can’t even cry. It takes a lot of strength just to open your mouth to speak, respond to a simple question like, “How are you?” smile….or blog (^^,). Suddenly, you change your is’s to was’s, you feel like you have learnt all about losing, you could lose almost anything. Every problem you have ever faced leading up to this moment seems to pale in comparison. It’s like acquiring an imperceptible handicap that is somehow visible to all; a handicap at which some will openly stare, while others would not dare. Your standard answer, “I am fine” which you secretly hope will end the myriad of questions only serves to prompt more probing. Although the pain feels almost physical, it has no physical solution. Thank God for friends who share your pain, tolerate your tantrums, and don’t mind your silence. Today is the first day of the rest of my life. I would be lying if I said that I knew what my first words were as a child, but it wouldn’t surprise me if they were “Dada, Papa” or whatever it is that I called my father when I was old enough to recognize him as such. Before which I was probably fascinated by this freakishly tall man who gave me pretty much anything I wanted. To me he was Superman, and believe it or not, only recently have I realized he was not invincible. He taught me about broadcasting, diplomacy, about good music, all kinds of etiquette, gardening, taught me to dance, to drive, fix a tie, a flat, and even to cook! He would say, “Unfortunately, the people in your future will not judge you by your academics, they will judge how well you can manage your home.” When things went wrong, he would shrug his shoulders and say, “It’s all in the game. Everything that can go wrong will go wrong.” I was introduced to Murphy’s Law from the time that I could walk. Countless things go wrong when someone close to you dies. And that “five stages of grief” stuff is all just a bunch of malarkey. There’s no one size fits all to this. All those emotions may or may not be experienced in that order and no one has the right to dictate which way is up. You cant just “wing it.” My dad was a well of wisdom that never seemed to dry up and time only made it deeper. “You don’t have to know everything. Just know enough to get by. Know a little something about everything.” “Take time to know her” was his response to relationship problems. “The three Tees, Things Take Time, you must have the patience of a flying instructor” was his outlook on life. “Watch for the other fool” was his approach to driving. “Remember the golden rule, treat others the way you want to be treated” “It is more blessed to give than receive” were among his beliefs. “The Law of Economics-In order to have one thing, you must forego another.” “Everything happens for a reason” “Don’t fail before you try” were among the lessons he would teach every day and in every way. Then he would sit back and say, “And so on and so forth, life goes on.” His final lesson was “Life is too short,” which, he taught on his death bed. I never could imagine life without him, and now, I don’t have to. Thinking about all the things he did, was doing, intended to and never will. As a child, losing him had always been my greatest fear, and when your greatest fear becomes your reality, you sink, or (learn to) swim….or fly (**,). Dad was an exceptional man, the most unselfish man I knew, and I shall only remember him as such. I write here even though he once wrote in one of his unpublished pieces about the folly of the messages people write in newspapers for their deceased loved ones: Eventually the world may forget you; I never will. I LOVE YOU, DADDY. THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING. In conclusion, how best can I describe how losing a father feels? ……………….I can’t. ="(