In the year since my dad passed away during our family getaway to Cape Cod, my family has tackled a whirlwind of “firsts.” We’ve navigated significant moments like holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries, as well as small yet poignant milestones—like the first time my mom had to fasten her own dress or the night I accidentally dialed my dad’s cell and heard it ringing on my desk.
Today marks the final “first”: the first anniversary of his passing.
It feels surreal—sometimes it seems like just yesterday I was on the beach beside him, and other times it feels like I’ve aged decades in just 365 days. A year flies by, yet the individual days stretch on forever.
I can vividly recall every moment from that day: my outfit, the dinner I whipped up for the kids, the scent of the ocean lingering in their hair as I tucked them in, the text I was about to send when I heard my mom’s scream, and the heartbreaking sight of my father lying motionless. In that moment, I was faced with an unimaginable choice between being a daughter and a mother.
My young son, Alex, heard the urgent calls for help, the frantic footsteps racing upstairs, the desperate shouts from the next room as we attempted CPR on my dad. He called out for me, a raw, primal cry filled with fear that needed no words.
I had to choose. Right or left? My father or my son?
For a fleeting moment, I hesitated, caught in the limbo between childhood and motherhood, before instinctively knowing where I needed to be. You might think I made the wrong call, but unless you’ve stood in that doorway yourself, torn between the man who raised you and the child you brought into this world, you can’t truly understand.
As parents, our instinct is to shield our loved ones from unbearable pain, no matter the cost. I couldn’t protect my mom, my brother, or my husband; they had already witnessed the heartbreak. But I still had a chance to safeguard Alex, even if just for a moment longer.
So, I climbed into his bed, holding him close as I listened to the sounds of paramedics working in the next room. I wrapped my arms around my sobbing, terrified child and whispered that everything would be alright. It wasn’t a lie; deep within me, I still held onto the hope of the little girl who danced with her dad and fell asleep on his chest. I was that little girl who believed in magic and fairy tales, who relied on her father to fix everything. As I reassured Alex, I was also soothing the child within me.
Today is simply a day. My longing for my dad remains as deep as it was yesterday. When the clock strikes midnight, no magic wand will erase the sorrow or fill the void in my heart. And honestly, I wouldn’t want it to. Grief doesn’t have an expiration date; it’s a testament to the depth of our love. As my dad once wrote to me before I left for college, “We haven’t reached the end of the journey, just the end of this leg. We’re all changing trains, still traveling together, bound by love and blood to cross paths again.”
Today is just another day. If I’m fortunate, tomorrow will bring another chance to love fiercely. Every moment is an opportunity. If you embrace that, regret will never find you.
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Summary
This article reflects on the poignant experience of navigating the first anniversary of a father’s passing, illustrating the complex emotions tied to grief and love. The author shares personal memories, emphasizing the importance of cherishing every moment with loved ones while acknowledging the ongoing nature of grief.