The first words you say. The first day of medical school. The first time you fall in love.
A lot of our first-time memories represent exciting milestones, however, they can also serve as dreaded reminders of past loss. My father passed away in May 2016 from a rare and aggressive type of brain cancer, and the two weeks that proceeded his death were filled with a lot of firsts. My first job offer, first medical school acceptance, and first university graduation, to name a few. Not being able to share these milestones with him was soon followed by a greater realization that there would be a lot more first-time experiences I’ll never be able to go through with him.
I also had a fear of losing my memories with him, because they were so painful to recall but also too important to let go of. My father was one of the greatest dad’s a girl could have asked for. Growing up, I remember him making me laugh so much I would be in tears. He was always finding a way to make the good a little bit better. But he sometimes had trouble expressing how he felt about the ones he loved most. He didn’t always know what to say when he was hurting or in pain. I think he felt as though he had to be the strong one, and it took him a while before he realized it was okay to not have all the answers. But even if he couldn’t say it, we knew his love for us by the things that he did.
Many people don’t understand that the loss of my father is no longer what my continued sadness stems from. It’s true that over time, grief gets easier to cope with (at least this was the case for me). It gets easier to live with as you build yourself back up around your loss. It no longer is the simple fact that he is gone, but rather it becomes just how much he has missed. Everything I have gone on to do without him, and all of life’s milestones he couldn’t and can’t be a part of.
After his death, it was as if I put some tinted glasses on and saw the whole world differently. My priorities changed; whenever there’s some stupid argument or gossip, I simply didn’t care. I’ve had to reflect on my own value system in order to determine what is truly important, versus what is just noise. Family carries an even more special meaning now, and I make it a point to constantly tell the people I care about how much I appreciate them. I use to be complacent and would tolerate doing things I didn’t necessarily enjoy. But now, I try really hard to focus my time on things that are actually important to me. I know this may sound simple, but it was something I’ve always struggled with.
My father taught me the importance of leading by example and working hard for the things you want. He also showed me the importance of humility. There were so many things he could brag about but never did; so many acts of kindness and times that he saved the day, but he would never seek recognition or credit. Most notably, my father has given me a new appreciation for life. Life is unpredictable and unfair, but it’s all a matter of perspective.
I will always be thankful for the lasting impact my father has on my life and the memories we shared as a family. Although I wish more than anything that he was still here, I’ve managed to find the collateral beauty: his death, in a twisted way, gave a new beginning to my life. I use to always do things to please other people and to live up to their expectations. Now I appreciate and see more clearly what’s important in life. This is something I’m blessed to understand, something that makes me cherish life’s milestones even more.
A lot of our first-time memories represent exciting milestones, however, they can also serve as dreaded reminders of past loss. My father passed away in May 2016 from a rare and aggressive type of brain cancer, and the two weeks that proceeded his death were filled with a lot of firsts. My first job offer, first medical school acceptance, and first university graduation, to name a few. Not being able to share these milestones with him was soon followed by a greater realization that there would be a lot more first-time experiences I’ll never be able to go through with him.
I also had a fear of losing my memories with him, because they were so painful to recall but also too important to let go of. My father was one of the greatest dad’s a girl could have asked for. Growing up, I remember him making me laugh so much I would be in tears. He was always finding a way to make the good a little bit better. But he sometimes had trouble expressing how he felt about the ones he loved most. He didn’t always know what to say when he was hurting or in pain. I think he felt as though he had to be the strong one, and it took him a while before he realized it was okay to not have all the answers. But even if he couldn’t say it, we knew his love for us by the things that he did.
Many people don’t understand that the loss of my father is no longer what my continued sadness stems from. It’s true that over time, grief gets easier to cope with (at least this was the case for me). It gets easier to live with as you build yourself back up around your loss. It no longer is the simple fact that he is gone, but rather it becomes just how much he has missed. Everything I have gone on to do without him, and all of life’s milestones he couldn’t and can’t be a part of.
After his death, it was as if I put some tinted glasses on and saw the whole world differently. My priorities changed; whenever there’s some stupid argument or gossip, I simply didn’t care. I’ve had to reflect on my own value system in order to determine what is truly important, versus what is just noise. Family carries an even more special meaning now, and I make it a point to constantly tell the people I care about how much I appreciate them. I use to be complacent and would tolerate doing things I didn’t necessarily enjoy. But now, I try really hard to focus my time on things that are actually important to me. I know this may sound simple, but it was something I’ve always struggled with.
My father taught me the importance of leading by example and working hard for the things you want. He also showed me the importance of humility. There were so many things he could brag about but never did; so many acts of kindness and times that he saved the day, but he would never seek recognition or credit. Most notably, my father has given me a new appreciation for life. Life is unpredictable and unfair, but it’s all a matter of perspective.
I will always be thankful for the lasting impact my father has on my life and the memories we shared as a family. Although I wish more than anything that he was still here, I’ve managed to find the collateral beauty: his death, in a twisted way, gave a new beginning to my life. I use to always do things to please other people and to live up to their expectations. Now I appreciate and see more clearly what’s important in life. This is something I’m blessed to understand, something that makes me cherish life’s milestones even more.
