On Grieving for Fathers: to the Silenced Cries in the Quiet Nights
Grieving about the loss of one’s father is not as talk about as grieving about the loss of one’s mother.
And I wonder was it because the fist bump of fathers is not as warm as the embrace of mothers?
Or was it because the stern expressions of fathers is not as bright as the smile of mothers?
Or was it because the tough love of fathers is not as soft as the encouragement of mothers?
Or was it because the firm instructions of fathers is not as gentle as the reminders of mothers?
Or was it because the unwavering support of fathers is not as felt as the unconditional love of mothers?
To me it’s harder to relate to other’s loss of father until the loss itself struck me days ago because it seems that the loss of fathers have been downplayed by the society this whole time. One can easily find literature on grieving for mothers but not grieving for fathers. To that I blame everyone who overlooked grieving the loss of a father only because the relationship between fathers and their family seems distant and practical.
As the eldest daughter of the family, no one ever prepared me for the heartwrenching screams I heard from my mother when the news broke. No one ever prepared me for the grip my sister gave me when she saw him covered in white cloth. No one ever prepared me for the aggravating questions people threw me at funerals. No one ever prepared me for any of that.
I haven’t got to ask him how to replace our gas stove. I haven’t got to ask him how to change a tire. I haven’t got to ask him how to fix something around the house. I haven’t got to ask him his secret in navigating difficult situations. I haven’t got to ask him his way of managing finances. I haven’t got to ask him to share his hobbies with me. God just take him away from me and everyone act like it’s the most normal thing in everyday life.
Losing father is like a bone-chilling cold breeze that stirs the heart, leaving behind sense of longing and broken hollows. It’s like losing pieces of oneself that makes us whole, a guiding light that has always been there to offer support, wisdom, and love. His abscence is felt in the littlest things that used to feel so normal, so secured, so loved. You won’t grasp the void until you miss the everyday stuffs like the echoes of his voice in the living room, the roar of his bike in the driveway, the rustle of his jacket being taken off in the doorway, the smell of the foods he cooked with improvised recipes and ingredients in the kitchen, the big-picture perspective he gave during tea time in the backyard. Memories of good times, lessons learned, and love floods back, reminding you his own way to includes himself in your life.
In the heartfelt remembrance, grieving for father unfolds. In the embrace of cherished memories and unspoken sorrows, his presence is keenly felt. There remains a resilient strength, a testament to the enduring bond between father and child.
For this I write this piece to give you a piece of what’s mine, to give me a peace of my mind. To those resonate with this piece, I hope you find solace as you embrace the pain of grieving for your father as a part of human experience. As tears fall and the memories surface, I hope you find comfort in the echoes of lingering love. Though the mourning of fathers may often lingers in the quieter corners, its resonance echoes as far as his love travels.
