I miss daddy

These are words I hear almost daily.
I want daddy.
I miss daddy.
I wish daddy was here.
 
They were daily at first, but have started to fade out and are only every other day or so now. It's exhausting. It's so mentally tiring to have to talk about it, and sympathize, and explain. Over and over again. And most days all I can do is hug them and say 'me too'. I miss him. I wish he were here. I want him back. I am sad/mad/angry/upset/destroyed - you think of the adjective for how I'm feeling and it's probably in there. I thank everything in this world that I have these two kids - they are a living part of Michael still here with us. But it's a double edged sword. Having them means I am reminded of him every second of every day. And instead of just me grieving, I have 2 grieving children that I need to try and figure out how to help. How much I wish they didn't have to have this pain or this loss. How much I wish I could just bear it all myself and not have them experience all of this. I don't in any way wish they weren't here - just that they didn't have to experience all of this and be a part of my grieving now as well. See I'm not just grieving for my loss of Michael. The loss of the person I've loved deeply for over 13 years now. I'm grieving FOR my children who now miss their father and will grow up without him. I'm grieving for them every moment when they ask for him, and every time there's one of those 'I have to tell Mike about this!' moments that he's not here for anymore.


Adella is too young to really understand what death is, and so she asks the most. It's very hard for her to grasp that he's gone and cannot come back. The other day she actually asked me 'where is daddy?' This is the first time she's done anything other than whine that she wants him or cry out for him. Most of the time she wants him she is in the throws of a tantrum and just yells 'DADDY'. When she is tired or upset (especially at me) those are the times she wants him and needs him. Just as it was when he was here. As a matter of fact, the day Michael died Adella was asleep napping when the police came to the house. My brother in law was with me and my sister in law came and got the kids to go to their house and play (I am forever thankful for that). And when David woke Adella up to leave the first thing she said to him was 'Where's Daddy?' Yeah. So she asks me where he is last week. And I try my best to keep it together and tell her that Daddy is gone (I don't use death/dead as she doesn't yet understand what that means. I could tell her he joined the circus and it would be more believable to her). 'Daddy was in an accident and he's gone, sweetheart. He can't come back.' She wasn't quite sure what to do, probably using the word accident wasn't the right thing. She looked a little confused and then said 'but I want him.' I told her that I knew that, but he can't be here with us. And gave her a hug. With her, it's hard to say things like 'he'll always be with us' because that's too abstract for her. She can't see him, so to her he is not here. If I say he's still with us in our hearts she expects to see him physically appear. For me the worst part of her being so young is that she really won't remember him. She'll remember through photos and stories but she won't have actual memories of him being alive or of doing things with him. That is incredibly sad for me (possibly more so than for her). She was (and always will be) daddy's little girl. She would run to him whenever she need something and he'd snatch her up in his big arms and hold her tight making everything better. My arms aren't quite as big and comforting for her.

Gunnar understands somewhat. But he misses him so much that his emotions are getting the most of him many times right now. The first few weeks were spent with him taking on the 'man of the house' job - he was adamant that he would fix things that broke, and that everything belonging to Mike was now his, since Dad was gone. He felt in a way he needed to take Mike's place in our house, I think. And Mike had always told him (eerily, now...) that if anything ever happened to him, Gunnar would have to take care of mommy and Adella. Slowly that attitude has given way to more sadness and anger. You can tell he misses him constantly and he is always on Gunnar's mind. There are nights when I put him to bed and he is just so down. I will ask him what's wrong and he says he misses Dad. I can't take that away. I can't make it better. A 5 year old should not have this burden on his shoulders. So I hug him and I say I do too. And we share a memory. Or look at a photo. Or read a book about loss. And we remember, together. We've started journaling together. So I take the journal I started when he was born, and we write about daddy in it now. He tells me what to say and I write it down with the date. 'Dad loved us all', 'Daddy was silly'. 'Daddy loved to fix things'. Adella has started chiming in too, which is fun. 'Daddy made me laugh! He tickled me!'. So I will write down things she remembers about dad too, in her journal, and they will both have those to look back upon when they are older.

There are things coming up where missing dad will be at a peak - birthdays, Football for Gunnar (Mike coached last year), start of school, more holidays. Each of them bringing more 'I miss daddy' moments. I imagine there will never be a time when that sentiment fades away completely. And each one brings with it another set of tears and grief that only missing someone you deeply love can bring. But we will get through them and move ahead. Because there is no other option for us. When something like this happens your life can go two ways - you can sink down low and wallow in the weight of the grief and let it consume you, or you can rise above it and do your best to keep living life for the person you have lost. I cannot imagine doing the former and having my children (or myself) be alright. So we choose the latter.