Today's Women of Age

I am well acquainted with grief as many of us are by this age. That’s the reality of getting older. By the time you reach 50, most likely someone close to you, someone you deeply loved, has died. And it’s absolutely shattering.

Some of the deaths in my life were expected, others not. Some were much too soon. But for the first time I find myself grieving for someone who is still alive–my father.

If you know my father you have appreciated his gregariousness, generosity and work ethic. He is a “good guy.” People like him. And I recently flew in to visit him and my brother which I do twice a year. But this visit was particularly heartbreaking. I could visibly see dad was weaker and more physically diminished. And it seems so unnatural and unreal to see our once strong, handsome dad so reduced. Despite his infirmities there are many things he would still love to do–take a trip to Japan, spend a month in the wilds of Canada–that are just fantasy now. Part of him believes these trips could still happen and I mourn that for him.

But over the years I’ve also grieved for the dad I never had. Truth be told he was never that interested in the lives of his three children. He was not unkind and worked hard to provide for us, but was just not overly involved with us. No attendance at school concerts, awards ceremonies, science fairs or other such events. No playing games with us.

Later as adults my two brothers and I all moved away pursuing jobs. Nothing intentional, just an economic reality. But our lives and careers continued to be of little interest to our father. I thought once he and mom retired things would be different. He would finally have time and want to get to know us better and his two granddaughters. But that never happened.

But here’s the thing–I know dad loves us and I know he thinks he has done well by us. Over the years he has gifted me some lovely things and is pleased that I have them but in reality we kids all wanted more emotional and personal connection rather than stuff. Which we never got and never will get.

But on this recent visit it finally hit me–he did the best he could. His own childhood was not easy. His own emotional landscape was arid. He had a life of hard manual labor. He had dreams that were never fulfilled. And I felt such a wave of compassion that I was finally able to stop being disappointed that he didn’t try to connect with us more all these decades. I finally released all the regret for what wasn’t. We talked for hours. Well, mostly he talked and I was happy to listen to his stories and life observations piping up once in a while. He told me he prays twice a day for me and my daughters which I appreciate. He also asked if I could send him a specific WWII book, which is now on the way.

But now I am back home and grieving. I am grieving for all the physical indignities and loneliness he is going through in these last months of his life. I am grieving for all the dreams he still has that will never be fulfilled. I am grieving that he may die before my next visit. But thankfully I am no longer grieving (or disappointed or angry) for the dad I didn’t have and am thankful for the one I have. He did the best he could.