LARAINE HERRING Excerpts / Lost Fathers

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Excerpts From Chapter 4
Fathers Who Died: Long-term Illness, Accidents, Sudden Death, Homicide, and Suicide

In a good story, the plot stays in motion because the main character faces many obstacles that she must deal with. Sometimes she is able to overcome a problem; sometimes the problem is too much for her. Stories and lives keep moving because things change. If nothing changes, nothing happens. Change occurs whether we want it to or not. Sometimes we spend a great deal of energy trying to avoid change or stop it from happening. When I was seven and we learned Dad was dying, I began to prepare early for the ultimate change of his death. I thought if I could work through it before it occurred, I wouldn’t have to feel it when it did occur. It doesn’t work that way.

When does grief work start? We have to return to the moment of change. Depending on your circumstances, the moment of change—the moment when you began to create a different storyline—may have been before your father physically left. It might have been the moment of diagnosis, if your father had a long-term illness such as cancer. It might have been the day he lost his job at the factory because that was the day he began to drink to excess.

If your father was emotionally distant your whole life, the moment of change may have been when you encountered a man who wasn’t. That may be what set things in motion for you to begin your exploration into your relationship with your father. Each of us has a different set of circumstances, so each of us has a different starting point.

This chapter will address the many ways we can lose our fathers to death. No one way is better or worse than another. They all result in the absence of a father. Be careful not to compare your loss with someone else’s. You are entitled to 100 percent of your grief. You feel your loss 100 percent. Work with your own storylines, remembering that even if you have a twin sister, you both experienced and adjusted to the loss in your own way because you are individuals and each of you had a separate, unique relationship to the same man.

The Language of Death

You’ve experienced the death of your dad and quite possibly the deaths of others. You know that in response to a death people stumble over things to say, if they even bother to say anything at all. You know there is nothing anyone can say to make the situation better. You learned quickly that language is inadequate. You learned that even you don’t know what to say. Language failed you. Language is a tool to label, explain, express, analyze, and categorize our experiences. When we attempt to do these things to feelings, we get stuck.

In general, our country has difficulty talking about death. We remove the sick and dying from mainstream society. We talk of death as if it were an anomaly rather than a natural part of the life process. The medical profession goes to almost obscene lengths to keep people breathing (as opposed to living). I think death is viewed as a failure in the United States. This sets up people for complications in their grieving process when death occurs. If dying is somehow a failing, then something could have been done differently to prevent it. Sometimes this is true. Most times, it is not.

Children are particularly susceptible to language use when death occurs. Children are literal beings. Metaphors such as “Daddy is sleeping now” do not translate to a child’s literal mind. Many children are afraid to go to sleep after being told, “Daddy is sleeping.” If a child is told, “Daddy went to be with God,” the child may wonder why Daddy chose to leave just then and, in turn, she may be angry with God for taking him away.
Children recognize the severity of the situation. Children realize that their biological survival is linked to their parents. A thirteen-year-old knows she can’t go out and work for Microsoft and get her own apartment if her parents die. “Who will take care of me?” and “Where will I go?” are frequent questions in a bereaved child’s mind.

Many adults are afraid to talk about death with other adults, much less talk about it with their children. Adults often make the mistake that children don’t know or can’t handle what is happening. They may have a false sense of wanting to protect the child from sorrow. Children are very perceptive. They know things are different. They will have legitimate questions about what happened.

Children deserve the truth. They will process their grief in a healthier manner if they have all the facts. If they don’t have the facts, they will create facts to fill in the blanks. They will do what they need to do to make meaning out of chaos. Adults may choose not to expose a child to violent images of her father if he was shot or killed in an accident, but that doesn’t mean they can’t still use proper terminology and specific language. Adults should always use the word “dead” because children need time to wrap their reality around that word.

I’ve heard people comment on using the word “dead.” “It sounds so harsh,” one woman said. It is harsh. It is real. And it is the truth. Without the truth, healing cannot begin. A child should be given as much detail as is age-appropriate. She should be given as much information about the disease or the cause of the accident as possible. Children will keep asking questions. Adults should keep answering to the best of their ability.

Now think about your own situation. What language was used concerning your dad’s death? Did you feel you had anyone to talk to about the details? If it was a sudden death, did you understand how it happened? Do you yet?

Unfinished Business

All of us have unfinished business in our lives. Through the course of living a life, we make mistakes. We don’t behave perfectly. We hurt others and others hurt us. This is life. One of the key components of unresolved grief is the amount of unfinished business a person has with the deceased. Unfinished business is the stuff that makes our psyches heavy. It’s the stuff we carry from one apartment to the next, one relationship to the next, repeating harmful patterns until the day we realize we are heavier than we need to be. Much of our lives are needlessly complicated by things we are carrying that no longer serve us.
Tim O’ Brien’s short story “The Things They Carried” (from the book by the same title) tells the story of a platoon of soldiers in Vietnam. [1] The characterization of the men is only through the objects the soldiers chose to carry with them. In addition to describing each object, O’Brien gives us the weight. This reinforces how important the objects were. For anyone who has ever traveled, the suitcase that didn’t seem so heavy when you packed it, suddenly weighs 1,000 pounds by the time it’s been up and down stairs and on and off trains.

In terms of grief, John James and Russell Friedman describe unfinished business as wishing things had been “different, better, or more.” [2] Most of us have unfinished business in relationships. Even if we are more conscious now and have cleaner relationships, most likely there are quite a few relationships from the past that have some unfinished business attached to them. When we talk about parents—our first and most primary relationship, the relationship around which some of our biggest storylines occur—we are bound to have unfinished business.

We have expectations of whom and what we think our fathers should be. One of those expectations is that your father is present and supportive. If you’re reading this book, your father wasn’t those things and is dead, wasn’t those things and is still living, or was those things and is dead. Any way you look at it, he is unavailable. This can create a snag in the storyline. What do we do when something is not what we expect it to be? Most of us get angry and resentful. Some of us get sad. All of us, as we experience life’s inevitable disappointments, must learn to integrate this storyline of loss if we are to find peace in this lifetime.

Phrases like, “I wish he were here more often,” or “If only my dad had done X,” or “I am the way I am because my dad did (or didn’t) do X,” are storylines setting traps for your own growth and development. Yes, we can certainly acknowledge that things may or may not have happened, and we must acknowledge the feelings that surface as a result of that, but we cannot put our futures and hearts on hold indefinitely.

Unfinished business is connected to expectations. When expectations aren’t met and we carry that resentment with us, it morphs into unfinished business. It’s easy to say, “The past is the past. Let it lie.” But until we understand and integrate the effects of the past on our current reality, we are tied to its control. While it’s true we cannot change the past, if we ignore its impact on our current lives, we close our eyes to the fullness of our experiences. We have been shaped by our pasts. The key for us today is to embrace it, integrate it, and use it to propel us into a future we consciously create, rather than keep us hopelessly tied to longings we can never satisfy.

Remember, to desire is a normal part of the human condition, but when we expect a particular outcome from a desire, we are set up for suffering. Wishing our fathers were still here is normal. Holding on to the disappointment that will occur when this expectation is not met will make your life heavy. Take care not to shame yourself for any choices you have made. Every step and misstep in your life has brought you to this point today.

Writing Your Storyline

1. Imagine you are carrying a backpack. In this backpack are all the things you carry with you. These could be memories, words, hurt, sorrow, or joy. They could be memories of a time you felt loved or safe. They could be ghosts of people and relationships who are no longer in your life. They could be job responsibilities or family responsibilities. They could be addictions or an illness. Start by making a list. Next to each item, assign a weight. For example: “Memory of being with my ex-lover: 4 pounds.” “Guilt because I was out of the country when Dad died: 25 pounds.” Don’t judge your list. After you finish your list, take a walk, make a cup of herbal tea, or call a friend. Congratulate yourself on making yourself aware of these things.

2. Pick the three items in your backpack that are the heaviest. Write or tell the story of each item. Remember to be as specific as possible. Remember to use concrete details. In addition to specific images, remember to equate your feelings with it. Whatever you feel is perfect. The work is in your heart, not your head. Let the intellect be a tool to provide language for your heart.

• If you cannot recall or access your feelings, make a note of that. Don’t judge it. Just notice it. If you cannot access feelings, you have given yourself a great signal for where you may have blockages. Hearts shut down when they don’t feel safe. If you don’t know what you feel, that’s OK too. Write that down. When we feel safe and secure, we have uninterrupted access to our feelings. When it seems too dangerous to feel because feeling might make us vulnerable or leave us open to an attack or further abandonment, we are denied access to our hearts. Wherever you are is perfect. Practice being here. Now.

3. Now let’s focus on your dad. How many of the items in your list were related to your relationship with your father? If any were related to your relationship with your father, choose one or two items and tell the story. Include how it was, how you want it to be, and how you feel about it. Use specific details and images.

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