The pain of losing you does not get easier, the space between grief and joy widens, but the pain of it only becomes more pronounced as I get older. And I seem to need you more, when in fact, I should be needing you less. Or at least that’s how it should work with parents and children. Maybe not. Maybe we need our parents more as we age.
Today is Father’s Day, the kids are with their dad, they’ve spent the week preparing gifts and homemade cards. I miss making you cards and homemade gifts. I took advantage of a little time alone and ran some errands. Stopped at a red light, I thought of you and was overwhelmed by this sudden attack of tears and sorrow, the likes of which I haven’t felt in a while.
When I was maybe four or five years old , there was a small carnival that had come to town, and you brought me to the carousel. I don’t remember going on any other rides, only that one. I picked a brown horse, and you helped me up, then you stepped off the platform and watched me from behind the gate. I waved and smiled my biggest smile for you, my dad, and held on tight to the pole as the music began to play and the horses galloped mechanically in the sunshine.
But as soon as you were out of sight, my expression changed. I became serious and focused, my head held high, my nose in the air, feeling like I was a princess who didn’t need to be waving to anyone. My eyes gleaned over the other parents standing around, and with my flat gaze, I was wanting to show everyone that I was a big girl, I didn’t need anyone. I was riding the carousel and doing it on my own.
And then I would come around to where you were standing, and as soon as you entered my field of vision, I reverted back to that little girl, my heart swelled at seeing my dad, and I would giggle and laugh, waving at you, and basking in your delight at seeing me go round and round on my horse. But as soon as I couldn’t see you anymore, I would become Ice Princess once again, and I played this game for the duration of the ride, reveling in this skewered sense of power and at the security in being the apple of your eye.
Today, driving and having a mini-meltdown in the car as I thought of you, everything was whizzing by real fast, crashing together, the carousel, your smile, growing up, then whoosh….I was beside you as you died, holding your blue fingers, watching your eyes lose their sparkle in quick little bursts until there was nothing, until you were gone. I realized how that simple, joyful experience of riding the carousel has defined much of my relationship with you.
In your presence, I could not contain my joy, and while I was away from you, I felt I had to maintain a certain coolness, to show myself that I could move through this world without you. So that you would be proud of me. On the road you and I have travelled together, and especially since you passed away, I think that girl on the carousel and her dad watching her go has come to represent more and more the essence of our relationship. It’s very strange to think back to a fleeting moment in your life and realize that it means so much more than what it appeared on the surface. Not only the memory of that moment has stayed with me all these years, but the feeling of it, the emotions I had inside of me at that time, they are very present, still very present.
I have never lost that feeling of being your little girl, and as I reach back into my treasures of memories, I’m four years old again, getting off the horse, hugging you and feeling my cheek against your black five-o’clock-shadow, holding your hand, walking away from the carousel. We were practicing how to let go and stay connected. In that carousel moment, all was good in the world.
Your courage and your faith are always with me, even when I feel I’m undeserving of such a humble man’s gift to his daughter. I wish you peace, Dad. You are the best Dad in the universe.
Love,
Chantal xxoxoxoxoxo
