What’s next?

It’s 9:46pm on a Thursday night, and I should be working but I have this persistent urge to write about my Dad. I’m listening to Hillsong’s “As You Find Me” on repeat as I write this, and this is important because I haven’t listened to a lot of Hillsong lately. Very off-brand for me. Or rather off-brand for my old self. I haven’t listened to much Christian music actually. 

Do you know something interesting? One night, I searched (amidst tears) “I don’t believe God loves me” and every single article/blogpost I found talked about how He loves us despite our flaws, our sins, etc etc. And I remember thinking “How presumptuous is it that you all think I’m searching for this because EYE did something to HIM and not the other way around…” I promise you I couldn’t find one article talking about my situation. Maybe I should’ve searched “why does God let bad things happen?” to get more appropriate results–but that wasn’t the message I was trying to convey. It’s one thing for bad things to happen, and it’s another to think that the God you’ve clung on to for all/most of your life doesn’t love you.

Sometimes I find myself thinking “Would this be easier if I could force myself to believe He doesn’t exist?” Surely, it must be. If He didn’t exist, then I can’t feel betrayed. Betrayed by who? A being who doesn’t exist? Maybe my eyes wouldn’t well up with tears when I think about the wee hours of January 5th when I desperately pleaded with God to not let my dad die. I prayed, I cried, I bargained. I told Him I wouldn’t ask Him for anything for the longest time – a year, two, you name it!- if He could just do this for me. Save my dad’s life, for me. I told Him I could not be an orphan. I told Him I wouldn’t be able to handle it. That I was mentally and physically incapable. That I would be a zombie.

You may read this and think “Well, He didn’t give you more than you could handle. Just as His Word says. You’re still here. You’re doing it. You’re even able to write this.” And I don’t know how to debunk that because that thought is technically right, right? I *am* still here. A functioning member of society. I haven’t taken a day off since my one-week bereavement leave ended (well, except the day I got my COVID vaccine–but if we’re being technical, I was “off” but I worked that morning). But am I really… here? Do I recognize my present self? Who is she?

The night my dad called to tell me my mom passed, I remember being acutely aware that I had become a different person. I remember thinking my life just ended. The life I live now is an entirely different one. I wrote about this in my journal. About how it was all so jarring because I was the only one aware that I had changed. In this new life, I still had the same job, responsibilities, commitments. And yet, it was entirely different. Different in the worst way possible. But that’s what happens, right? When your world stops and the rest of the world’s spins madly on?

Who am I now without both my parents? The two people who gave me life. Who am I now that I can’t even convince myself that my God loves me? I honestly don’t know. Again, you may think “But there’s so much more to you than your parents (and your God)” but I don’t know how to explain to you that the other facets of my being are currently not enough to determine who I am now. Maybe this is one of those things you need to experience first. But I don’t want you to because it may be the worst thing you experience on earth. ‘May’ being the key word here because trust me, life is always ready to say “Hold my beer.”

I got engaged by the way. Three days before my Dad died. Oh trust me, I’ve asked myself “what type of cruel joke is this?” more times than I can count. Let me tell you something else. I lost my Dad to COVID and we didn’t even get to find out that it was COVID until he was cold in the morgue. Yup. His test results from that morning literally got to us (well, I wasn’t there-but the family) as my sister stood outside the morgue. The morgue with my Daddy’s dead body in it. Talking about the days leading up to the death would have to be its own whole post because when I tell you that everything that could possibly go wrong did?? You have no idea. Nooo idea. You know how there are moments of hope in The Handmaid’s Tale when you think June will finally get out of Gilead but she never does? Yea. Exactly that. But this time around, the grand finale is you essentially witnessing your dad die via panicked whatsapp messages.

“Pain” doesn’t even begin to cut it. It’s the fact that I was/am still processing my mom’s death for me. It’s the fact that I don’t even know where to begin grieving my Dad for me. That I live in constant fear of what/who’s next. And how can I forget? The fact that every moment of happiness is almost a “distraction” from my true state. A glitch in the system. Oh, honorary mention: The fact that every moment is clouded by the realization that my parents are no longer here. Both the good and the bad. When I got promoted in 2019, the first thing I did was hide in an office and cry for an hour because I couldn’t text my mom about it. And when Gozie asked my Dad for his blessing leading up to the proposal, I cried all through my shower because my mom wasn’t going to be at the wedding. And now, both of them won’t be.

What’s interesting is I have only scratched the surface. These are my surface-level “bullet points.” This isn’t the meat. I am not ready for the meat. I cannot handle the meat. At times, I feel so helpless. Like I literally go through it all in my head like *no one* can really help me. Not the nice therapist guy I saw once in March. Not my siblings because they’re dealing with their own grief in their own ways. Not Gozie or my friends whom I love and have been nothing but supportive. Because this isn’t something great people and belly laughs can take away, you know. Sometimes, I pick up my phone and think “who can I call in this moment to help me?” and realize no one can. I just wait for time to go by. I want it to speed up but I want it to slow down at the same time. I don’t want to have lived more years without my parents being with me, but I also don’t want the searing pain to stay fresh.

Let me tell you one more thing before I stop. Another thing that’s different this time around is that the expectations are different. There are still a lot of unknowns but there are more knowns than before because this isn’t my first time at the dead parent rodeo. I don’t hope and pray that I’m going to reconnect with them when I sleep, and then wake up disappointed when they don’t show up. Surprisingly, I feel emptier… because I don’t even have hope, you know. I don’t even have an avenue for certain disappointments. Because I know what this is (to an extent). My parents are dead, and yes, I hope they are in heaven and are technically still present in some form, but it’s not the same. It’s not even close. It’s not comforting to hear “they’re watching over you.” It does nothing for me but make me cry sometimes. There is no comfort in both your parents not being here in your 20s. And if anyone tells you different, I’d like to bet that they haven’t experienced it.