A Daughter's Grief

Well, well, well. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

Some of you have wondered and asked where my blog went since 2020. Like the rest of the world, I have been through a lot these last 2 years. However, I would like to take this time not to address my absence entirely, but to share with you my story, and my dad’s.

As many people in my personal life know, but maybe not my internet life, my dad passed away on April 13, 2020. We were shocked, devastated, and heartbroken. Since then, I have not been able to sit down and write, even sitting here and writing now feels wrong.

My dad was the biggest cheerleader in my writing because he was also a writer. He was an investigative journalist for many years and he was thrilled when I started my blog and he started reading my writing. He was so proud and told me that daily. It guts me to know that my future posts will not be seen or read by him.

Without too much detail that is too painful to write, my dad had fought multiple lymphoma (bone marrow cancer, similar to leukemia) for over a decade. He had 2 bone marrow transplants and was admitting to UPenn hospital for his 3rd at the end of February 2020. As many of us know, the Covid-19 pandemic started in March 2020. This meant no visitors, and limited contact with my dad for about 6 weeks and it was devastating and anxiety-inducing to say the least.

But throughout all of this, mentally I was preparing for him to come home and it would be alright just like it had every single time. My dad was a fighter, and he always came home from the hospital and recovered. But, not this time. In the 6 weeks we were not able to see him, his cancer had spread to his brain without anyone being able to detect it, because it has only happened to 0.01% of patients. By the time they found it, it was too late and we were told hospice was the only reasonable option. To say we were shocked is an understatement. He was supposed to come home, this bone marrow transplant was supposed to work, I was still supposed to have my dad here today… but I do not.

We had no idea what to expect when my dad come home to enter hospice. We could not have him in a hospice center because again, due to Covid no visitors were allowed. So, we set up a hospice in our living room. Once my dad was home and settled, we truly saw how severe the cancer had taken over. My dad could not speak, he could barely stay awake or keep his eyes open, it already felt like he was gone and that was the most devastating of all. I thought we would have more time, I would have the opportunity to ask questions, tell stories and verbalize how much I loved him. We were not given that opportunity and it still gives me nightmares.

My dad passed away within 5 days of returning home. It was on Easter Monday. That symbolism is not lost upon me. My dad was a devout Catholic, and always instilled upon us the importance of faith. He was my role model in many ways, but particularly in my journey with faith. My faith was very strong for years because of him, and I thanked God everyday my dad was blessed with being here on earth. It felt fitting that when he passed, it was the day after we celebrate Jesus’ resurrection. For those who are unfamiliar, Easter is a sacred time in the Catholic (and Christian) faith where Jesus Christ died for our sins on Good Friday. As the Bible goes, Jesus rose on the 3rd day from the tomb on Easter and ascended into heaven to be with God. The timing of this holiday, and my dad’s passing upon first glance is a coincidence, but I truthfully I do not believe it was.

However, even with that slight comfort, I lost my faith. To be honest, it is still lost. I have so many question that will go unanswered and I have cursed at God too many times to count in the last 2 years. Why him? Why now? Why in this way? The way he died, was not peaceful. It was chaotic, and it felt so wrong. We were not able to be there, hold his hand, and comfort him. He was alone, in the hospital, desperately wanting to be with his family but for some reason, it did not happen that way. I curse God for that. I felt abandoned in my darkest hour and I felt he has betrayed my father after his years of devotion to take him away in the way that he did. When our priest came to give him the sacrament of Anointing of the Sick and Final Wishes, my dad who was slightly able to speak, expressed that he was not ready to die, and asked the priest why God was doing this to him and that he did not understand what he did wrong. The priest shared that with us, and that is when my faith shattered into a million pieces. I pray deep down that my dad’s soul somehow forgave God in the end and that he was able to enter heaven with some sort of understanding, but that is something I never will know. So, for now, I know that my dad died being angry with God, therefor I am angry for him and have stayed that way for the last 2 years. About a month ago now, I went to see Father Hallinan, our family parish priest for years who was a dear friend of my dad, and while it did give me some solace, I do not know what the future of my faith looks like.

Because of Covid, we were not able to have a proper burial or memorial. No visitors, no mass, nothing. Again, I cursed God. How dare he take that away from us? A chance to celebrate my dad’s life, his faith, his story. People called, sent cards, sent flowers and food. They did all they could do. But people do not realize the importance of a memorial and a mass, because it is part of the grieving process and to not have that, felt so wrong. My dad deserved a memorial with beautiful flowers, uplighting, and funny stories, prayers in his name, Bruce Springsteen songs, and a gathering of families and friends who loved him so much. We, as his family, deserved to experience that to help with our closure but we were denied that chance because of the pandemic.

We were able to have a mini make-shift memorial for immediate family close to my parent’s hometown near Pittsburgh because at that point Covid-19 was not a major threat. It was about 10 people and man, was it depressing. Everyone had to sit 6 feet apart, and it felt so empty. It was a room of people who loved us, but it still felt so empty. The priest who spoke briefly did not know my dad, but he was a blessing anyway which I thank him for but it simply was not the same as it would have been with Father Hallinan. The person who did his eulogy was not someone we were happy about, but for whatever reason, people felt we (my mom, sister, and I) were too fragile to get up and speak in front of people. To hell with that. I just about gave everyone a heart attack when I got up there to speak on the fly. I was not having the final words be what came out of that person’s mouth. Once that was over, we were not able to have any type of luncheon because everything was closed (thanks, pandemic) so we had takeout hoagies from Sheetz and homemade dishes at my grandfather’s house. Not ideal, but hey, we were able to be with family so that at least comforted me. My aunts, uncles, and cousins surrounded us with love and for that I am forever grateful.

I write all of this, not for sympathy but so people understand what we went through, and what many other families went through by having a loved one pass during this pandemic and the unique set of challenges it comes with. I also want people to remember my dad. You can read the obituary that I wrote here, so you can know more about his story. I do not want people to forget my dad and his journey. I do not want them to forget his smile, his energy and his strength but it happens. People move on and forget, how his death affected them was a small percentage of their world, but it was a huge percent of mine. My life changed overnight and so did I.

I am not fully healed from this trauma, but, I am trying to not be bitter. I am trying to not be angry, and mad at the world but some days, those are all of the emotions I can muster. It is very hard to talk about him, or think about him without crying and it is so isolating. It has been 2 years, but I am trying to get comfortable with mentioning him. A story here and there, a memory, anything that reminds me of him in hopes that I can keep his energy alive.

If you have read this far, thank you. Thank you for allowing me to share this experience. Writing this has been 2 years in the making and to finally have his story and my emotions in writing gives me relief. Be thankful for everyday, do not take anything for granted and always say I love you. Even if you’re mad, sad, disappointed, whatever. At the end of the day, be sure to make your loved ones feel loved and cherish each and every moment.

Lots of Love,

Marissa