Aug. 28, 2023
As the sun dipped below the horizon, I remember inhaling deeply and soaking in the beautiful view. My partner and I were attending an extravagant event for his job, which featured a Ferris wheel among other festivities. I had eagerly anticipated this special night for months. The warm rays caressed my face, and a gentle breeze danced around my dress as my partner kissed me at the peak of the wheel. In that moment, I let myself forget that my father was battling terminal cancer.
My father’s diagnosis hit us like a bolt from the blue. “Terminal,” the doctor had said. Chemotherapy would only delay the inevitable and provide him with some comfort, he explained gently. My family stumbled through the following months, dazed and frightened, struggling to grasp the weight of the situation. As a nurse, I had seen the toll cancer takes on individuals, stripping away their dignity and life. My days became a chaotic mix of phone calls, visits to help care for my dad, and constant anxiety. Grief, thick and heavy, started to wrap itself around my heart.
I was mourning my father long before his passing, and it felt utterly draining.
In what seemed like no time, my father transformed into “a cancer patient.” His hair fell out, anemia left him ghostly pale, and fatigue diminished the once robust man I adored into a fragile shadow. I longed for the times when our discussions didn’t revolve around scans and hospital visits. I often denied myself nights out or coffee dates with friends, haunted by the thought that my father was dying while I was trying to live. Deep down, I was a frightened girl, terrified of losing the man who meant the world to me.
That night on the Ferris wheel, the height gave me a fleeting escape. As the wheel turned, I let go of my worries, allowing myself to revel in the joy of the moment. I danced with friends and savored cocktails under the stars. Looking back, I realize that evening was a gift; my father unexpectedly passed away just three days later, plunging me into profound sorrow.
In the months following his death, my grief threatened to engulf me. Some days, I managed to get out of bed just to feed my two children. On good days, I struggled to think clearly, and on the bad days, I found myself sobbing uncontrollably. Conversations felt overshadowed by the darkness surrounding my heart.
I feared I would never feel whole again, as the sadness felt embedded deep within me. I often recalled a scene from Sex and the City, where Miranda comforts Carrie after a heartbreak, assuring her that laughter would return one day. I clung to this idea while navigating my endless pain.
Knowing how much my father would have hated to see me wallowing in grief, I felt a responsibility to carry it because it was all I had left of him. Letting go, much like I did on the Ferris wheel before he passed, seemed like betrayal. I accepted grief as a permanent fixture in my heart and made peace with my brokenness.
Surprisingly, as I embraced my grief, healing began. I discovered that grief wasn’t something to be ignored. By confronting my feelings and sharing them with others, I slowly felt liberated.
I set boundaries for my grief. I allowed myself days to cry under a blanket but also faced my sorrow when joy began to seep back into my heart. I learned to relinquish the guilt that came when I smiled or laughed, recognizing that it was okay to feel alive while still missing my dad. It felt as if he were gently nudging me back to life, reminding me that missing him could coexist with joy.
Grief has since woven itself into my identity. Four years since my father’s passing, the pain has dulled to a subtle ache, like a splinter buried in my heart. Occasionally, that splinter throbs, but I soothe it with cherished memories. I choose not to extract it because I never want to forget how far I’ve come since his passing.
One warm summer evening last August, I found myself atop a Ferris wheel with my family. My daughter enthusiastically exclaimed, “We’re so high up! Do you think Grandpa can see us?” Tears welled in my eyes, but I smiled in response. As I looked at the horizon, I could almost feel my father’s presence, smiling back at me.
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Summary:
The author reflects on the profound grief experienced after losing her father to cancer. Through a mix of memories and insights, she shares the journey from sorrow to healing, emphasizing the importance of embracing grief while also allowing joy back into her life. A poignant moment on a Ferris wheel serves as a metaphor for the delicate balance between remembering loved ones and living fully.