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| Graduated Summa Cum Laude from Saint Louis University in 2008. Finance and Accounting Double Major? Jack was over the freakin' moon. |
I can't stop thinking about Stuart Scott's daughters today. Ever since my phone buzzed with the USA Today notification of Stu's passing, I have wondered where his daughters were, who they were with, and how they were doing in these first few hours. Their Dad's battle just ended, but their battle is just beginning, like a baton that has been passed in a macabre relay race. When I watched the interview with Stu's then fourteen year old daughter in the piece produced for the Jimmy V ESPY award, which Stuart received, I saw myself. Her words communicated hope and optimism but her eyes conveyed realism. I wish I could just sit with her for a spell and let her just… be… with someone who might be able to impart a bit of "yup, I have stood in your shoes". Since I cannot, I figured I would jot down what was swirling in my head all day as I thought of her, her sister, and their Dad:
The stages of grief should come with a really big disclaimer - may be experienced in an order different than advertised. The second after I watched my Dad leave, I was in acceptance. I had been preparing myself for his death for months. I knew he wasn't going to walk me down the aisle or meet any of my children. He was my person and he had been in pain during his battle so, in all honesty, I wanted it over and done with for his sake. He was holding on for me, my brothers and my Mom because he felt like the alternative was pure abandonment of us. When he was trying to decide whether to cease treatment, he asked me if I was going to be okay. His face was filled with worry and guilt while tears welled in his eyes. I rarely lied to my Dad but, without hesitation, I serenely told him the biggest fib of my entire life: I said I'd be fine. I could lie because I had accepted that this was a chapter in our family's saga - this is how the main character exited.
Since acceptance is the last stage of grief, I naively thought I was done. Jackson had spent the better part of my life reinforcing the idea that I was advanced and all around awesome. So what better way to grieve him than in an advanced way that honored how he saw me? Yay! Grief over! Maybe I didn't lie to him - I'm SO FINE! A family friend told my Mom our entire family was as stoic and composed during the service as the Kennedy Family. I loved Jackie O, so this was another win in my book.
Fast forward 9 months and I was in the fetal position on my fuzzy bathmat next to my sink. I can't really call what I was doing "crying", it felt more like a howl with tears. What caused this breakdown? I lost my drivers license when out at a bar with my best friend. As I was washing my face, I remembered another time I lost my license and how I called my Dad all pissed off that I had to deal with the DMV on a Saturday and he basically laughed at me. During this recollection, I said four words that opened a floodgate that had been building for almost a year: He's Never Coming Back. Kristen came running into the bathroom. She couldn't really hug me seeing as I was face down on the floor, using the bathmat to muffle my screams, so she just covered me. She used her whole body to weigh me down, as if she was doing anything she could think of to make sure I didn't go completely out of myself.
Ever since that moment, the "bathroom floor moment", I have hopped around the various stages of grief. Everyone is different, no one goes in the order the textbook lays out. The textbook is full of shit. That was the main concept that was at the forefront of my mind when I heard about Stuart Scott and I thought of his daughters. What I would tell them is this: just as no person's cancer is the same, no one person's grief after losing a loved one to cancer is the same. Sometimes you won't even be able to relate to your immediate family: your Mom's loss of a husband (or in your case, your Dad's girlfriend's loss of a partner) is NOT the same as the loss of a father. One is not worse or easier than the other. They are just different. Your sibling? It may seem like the same loss on a superficial level but it is not - did they have a few more years than you? On some dark days, this can create feelings of resentment. Was Dad present for a few more of their life milestones? This can put you in the anger stage of grief faster than you can say "hope you enjoyed your wedding". Who will you talk to when something happens that reminds you of that thing only you and him did together? A lot of people knew your Dad but only you know YOU & DAD. Your relationship was unique, which means your grief will also be unique.
Your Dad seemed to do all he could to make sure his disease didn't define him. Mine too. I will tell you, it will be just as hard not to let his death be what defines you. I struggle with it everyday. I don't want to be the girl with the dead Dad, but when one has a Dad as so utterly fantastic and larger than life as ours were, there is something enticing about letting the loss of him be your story, more so as the hours become days and the months turn into years. I am currently trying to reframe this thought so my definition is more that I am his living legacy, but it can be a struggle. This isn't going to be easy for you but you will get through it. You will get through it because you are his living legacy, no matter which stage of grief you are in.
