1976

As I was driving one day a couple of weeks ago, a radio announcer mentioned a year--1981 or something. Immediately I referenced this date with the year Daddy died. At that moment, I became aware that I always--and I mean always--use 1976 as a pivot point when determining how long ago something happened.

I have many other dates from which to choose: my birth date, the date I graduated from HS, my wedding date, my child's birth year... yet 1976 is the year I automatically think about when determining a period of time. I know why this is so. I have thought of myself as a girl whose father died for the past 32 years. I am always aware of how many years it has been since Daddy died.

As I had this automatic thought, my second thought was that I needed to find different ways to reference the passage of time. I had very mixed feelings about this realization. I felt a mixture of sorrow and relief. On the one hand, using 1976 is something I'm very used to and it's comfortable. It also serves to remind me that Daddy is dead and I have spent 32 years loyal to his memory. To stop referencing his death strikes me as disloyal to his memory.

On the other hand, by using this date I'm continually reinforcing the "I'm a girl whose father is dead" thought. This thought is in direct conflict with my efforts to grieve and become healthier. And, I can't believe that the father that knew me and loved me would want me to be miserable--this is not honoring his memory. The relief I felt was one of being set free from the burden of keeping such a strict vigil to the memory of Daddy.

This is the path I'm on: to grieve and to set myself (and my poor father!) free from the rigid thoughts I've used since I was 11 to cope with Daddy's death. As I mentioned in a previous post, this is truly hard for me. I don't have the one person I felt totally comfortable with, Daddy, to help me through it. Oh, the irony! Well, if I've been strong enough to repress my feelings and create an elaborate thought process for which I've built a life, I'm strong enough to work through these feelings and thoughts and come out healthier and with more understanding of myself and this truly tragic and defining event in my life. I have faith that I can, with help!, do this. I don't know what the paths through this journey will be, but I do know that I'll be a happier, more content, more accepting ME when I'm on the other side.