A friend once asked me how I do it. I looked at her in confusion with a down turned brow. “Do what?” I asked. She shook her head as if I didn’t know. “Be strong.” And it hit me in that moment that maybe after the eight years my dad was falling ill, I was strong. We live in a culture that steers away from complimenting ourselves because we have a constant fear that others will judge us if we dare believe in ourselves, believe that we have great qualities or pat ourselves on the back for a job well done. In that instant it became clear; I was strong, and I wanted others to know I was strong.
The years of being a caretaker to my father when other friends were out going to dances, having Father’s Day with their families, and taking vacations because they could, I was at home with my father, doing what was right and expected of me. I had a great childhood and a wonderful high school experience. But even so, it was tough. I experience the sleepless nights when my dad wandered our house aimlessly because his brain wouldn’t allow him to rest, I helped him dress and bathe, and I went to father-daughter dances alone because my own was at home, slowly losing his mind. I wanted so badly to be like my other friends with normal dads. I didn’t want mine to be terminally sick, and yet here I was, in the midst of my youth having to take on responsibilities most adults have yet to encounter.
My dad was simply amazing. He was a man’s man; he was a carpenter, an engineer, a house builder, mechanic and a golfer. He enjoyed the finer things in life like chocolate, peanut butter ice cream and mowing the grass. But the most important role he ever played was being my dad. If he were here today, he would no doubt agree. Growing up being his caretaker was one of the best gifts I could receive because even though I missed out on sleepovers and parties with friends, it brought me closer to him.
You don’t know what humble is until you have to help your father shower and lay out his adult diapers. You learn to power on.
Each day I went to school with little to none of my friends knowing my deep dark secret. I often found myself feeling like I was living a lie. I would go to school, plaster a smile on my face, and pretend everything was ok when I was dying on the inside. When my secret broke, it was like this tremendous weight had been lifted off of me and the whole world could see my insecurities. I am imperfect, I make mistakes, and I have lied to friends because I was scared what they would see in me once they knew I had a dying dad. But through it all I found myself. I found that I was brave because even though it seemed like my whole world was crumbling, I knew I could rely on myself to make it through. I found my inner strength. I began to believe I could do anything, I gained empathy beyond belief, and a love that goes on despite death.
My dad loved me and that is something that will carry me through this life until we can meet again. Even though life is hard, and at times you feel like you’re drowning, look to yourself to find your strength because it is there. My mom and friends have lived this with me, have cried and held my hand during my dad’s funeral, and for them, I am eternally grateful. But sometimes, all you need to look to is you, because you are stronger than you believe, braver than you think, and even when it might not seem like it, BLESSED beyond belief. So, carry on my friends. My story is not one of sorrow, but a happy one. I did not die with my father, yet his spirit carries on within me. Sadness in this life is inevitable, but I chose a life with joys of the heart, moments that are endearing and inspiring, and ultimately, above all else, filled with everlasting love because of the love my father gave to me.
