How do you survive the death a parent when you are far away from home? Read on!

In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes – Benjamin Franklin

Some people evade taxes. Most of us pay our dues; and then some. Death, however is the ultimate equalizer. It’s a path everyone, bar none, must take. Yet it seems we never ever get used to it.

My father passed away suddenly on December 27, 2009. Seven long years ago, yet it still seems surreal to me that he is no longer with us. I still talk about him as if he is still alive. I am sure those of you who have experienced this can relate.

The call

I remember the day like it was yesterday. Having been in the US for about a year and just started working, it wasn’t the time to be taking vacations even though I missed my family. I decided that I wouldn’t be going back home to visit for at least another year. You know how vacation eligibility works in corporate America.  And besides, I was working as a contractor back then so every hour counted to my pocket book.

I got a strange call from my mother early that Sunday morning. She didn’t give me details only to say that my father was really sick and things were not looking good. I was ready to board a plane because I had to see him! That was my dad you were talking about. She convinced me not to do it. So I waited, panicked as I could be. Only to get another call a few hours later that he didn’t make it.

I was devastated. I couldn’t contain myself. The shock, overwhelming grief, the pain, the hurt, the unanswered questions… wanting to see him, to speak to him, to hug him one last time. But I was thousands of miles away. Far away from my family and friends, my support system.

How did I handle it?

I grieved

I cried, I hollered, I screamed,  I rolled, I heaved, I cried out to God, I asked why…you name it… I did it. That was grieving for me. Whatever I felt like doing, that’s just what I did. No trying to think rational, or being strong or having anyone talk me out of just wallowing in my state. I just let loose.

This happened on Sunday so I took the next day off work. I hadn’t slept and just didn’t feel like being around anyone. I grieved some more.

By this time the calls were coming in from far and wide. I was in a much better position to speak. But when I could not, I just didn’t. I was polite but some conversations I just didn’t engage in. It was just not the time.

I did not rush the process

Even though I was back at work by Tuesday(bank account calling), the heaviness in my heart began to feel physical. My heart felt like it was literally being ripped out of my chest. I put my best foot forward, trying to focus as best as I could on the tasks at hand. Not giving myself the room to think too much. When my mind wandered, I wrote. I wrote letters to my dad, I wrote letters to God. I just wrote. Being far away from home with no-one to spontaneously talk to when I needed to left me feeling lonely and  helpless. That was tough.

I wasn’t there to support my mother and that weighed heavily on me. But kudos to my younger brother(my only sibling), he was a tower of strength for all of us during that time.

I held on to the memories

My daddy was my hero, my champion, my cheer leader, my encourager. He and my mother gave us the tools we needed to become well-adjusted adults. They taught us to love God and lived as shining examples for us.

I have so many fond memories of him just being a really good dad. I still draw on these experiences whenever I begin to feel sad(I am tearing up even as I am writing this post). Even though he was an ordinary man, my father, he walked with princes and  paupers alike. He held the respect and admiration of all who he came in contact with.

Of the myriad of memories of my dad, one that I recalled with my husband recently was when I was about to start my final undergraduate year at the university in Jamaica. I had worked all summer and was looking forward to completing my university career while resident on campus. I  fell really ill and passed out in the hallway of the dorm; just fell flat on my face.

While I was recovering, he took public transportation up to the campus and came and camped out in my room just to keep me company. He just sat there and watched me while I slept, and no doubt prayed. I don’t even think he ate!! He just needed to know I was OK and I felt so secure having him there with me. Even now I feel like he still watches over me.

I faced it and got closure

The time came for me to go home. I was forced to once again face the reality of him being gone. That was by far the toughest part of this whole journey. Somehow in the back of my mind, I was thinking that maybe, just maybe, when I got there I would walk into the house and see him sitting in his favorite chair watching cricket(which was what he was doing when he passed away). My world was about to be rocked once again. I relived the whole experience of losing him all over again.

Looking back I realized that I had to go through it.  I needed closure. So I grieved once again. I talked about him. I looked through his stuff. Even though I had spoken to him the day before he died, I had to “feel” his presence one more time.

Many people visited with us while I was there. The stories they told of how he touched their lives started to comfort me. On the day of his funeral, our local church, which is pretty large, was overflowing its pews and balconies. Literally hundreds of people had come to pay their final respects. There was standing room only.  If I had any doubt, I confirmed that his was a life well lived and I knew he was resting well. He was at peace. He legacy was intact. That’s all you can ask for.

I know some of you might be going through a similar situation or will do so at some point in your life. I hope my experience and my coping strategies provide comfort and help you find ways to handle it.

Please comment below with any feedback. Let me know if you  like these kinds of posts as well.