The journey of grieving my dad twice: how loss shaped me

To the ones who have lost a parent via abandonment or death, this one is for you. If you haven’t, you can come with me into the world of someone who has lost their parent not once but twice.

For those who have experienced the loss of a parent through abandonment or death, my story may resonate deeply with you. I’ve walked a unique path of grieving, having lost my father not once but twice. In this blog, I want to share my journey, how it shaped me, and the lessons I’ve learned along the way.

Childhood bliss

My fondest memories date back to my early childhood, just before the age of six. Life was filled with joy, and I was an exuberant child who revelled in performing and had an unabashed love for Bollywood. At the centre of this happiness was my father, a man who was my hero and my first love.

My dad was the embodiment of fun and reminded me of Robin Williams. He was the silly parent, always ready to make us laugh. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world, basking in the warmth of his love. Memories like doing crossword puzzles together before school, the scent of his cologne and Wrigley’s extra gum are etched in my heart.

The first loss

But life took an unexpected turn when I was just seven years old. I vividly remember the day I came downstairs, and the alarm blared. My mother broke the news that my dad wouldn’t be living with us anymore. It was my first encounter with sadness and grief – emotions I couldn’t comprehend. My world suddenly lost its colour, and I began to withdraw.

Loss of friends, loss of innocence

As my father’s presence in my life waned, so did my friends. I would wait by the front window, hoping to catch a glimpse of his Citron Picasso, yearning for the return of the happiness he once brought. After hours of no-show, I was left grappling with loneliness, sadness, and self-doubt.

My father’s sporadic presence left me questioning my worth. Why had he gone? Did he no longer care about me? Did anyone care? These questions haunted a young me, plunging myself into a dark abyss of self-hate, depression, and despair. I felt utterly alone.

A new family, more heartbreak

Years later, I visited my dad in London, only to discover he had a new life with a new girlfriend and her family. While I wanted to be happy for him, my heart ached. It seemed like my dad was replacing his old family with a new one, leaving me feeling unwanted and abandoned. Nevertheless, I continued to wear a smile on my face.

Being with my dad made me feel so disconnected from him that I often missed my mum and brother when I was in his company. The man who had once been my hero now felt like a distant acquaintance. My real family was waiting for me back at home. As my dad turned fifty, we didn't celebrate with fanfare; I simply sent him a card. I did want to celebrate, but I believed he no longer cared. On some birthdays, he sent presents and cards, on others, there was no sign of him. So, why should we make a fuss? A card would suffice.

The second loss

Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, in April 2011, we received news that my dad was in the hospital. After two years of not seeing him, I visited him, but he was a shadow of his former self, having suffered a heart attack. It felt surreal, and I struggled to find words to bridge the gap that had grown between us.

Tragically, my dad's health continued to decline, and he eventually passed away on the 17th of April. This second loss felt like a different kind of grief, shattering the hope of ever becoming a complete family again. The funeral came and went; we scattered his ashes, and returned home to a house that remained unchanged, devoid of his presence.

Silent grief

In the aftermath, I found myself unable to talk about the pain I felt. Society often encourages us to box up our grief and tuck it away in the recesses of our minds. So, I grieved in silence, only allowing myself to openly cry on his anniversary. To me, my dad was still in living in London, frozen in time.

Navigating adulthood

I struggled through my A-levels but managed to get into university, where I began a journey of self-discovery. My emotions oscillated between profound lows and fleeting highs. Eventually, I graduated with a first-class honour in Psychology, thinking life would improve.

Facing the past

A few years after graduation, I realised that merely surviving wasn't enough for me. I sought therapy and began to unravel the layers of grief I had buried within me. I was broken but determined to heal.

However, life had more challenges in store. My paternal grandma passed away over a year ago, reopening old wounds. And, a few months later, my maternal grandma was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, ultimately succumbing to the disease in May of this year. This resurfaced my original grief, and the wounded child within me cried out for help.

Two sides of me

Through it all, I've come to understand that grief has two facets: my outward self and my inner grief self. When in public, I wear a mask of smiles and laughter. But when I'm alone at home, my grief comes out to play. I cry, get angry, feel betrayed, and sift through old photographs. It's challenging to reveal this side to the outside world, but it's essential for my healing.

To connect with my dad, I turn to Bollywood movies. Watching them makes it feel like he's right there with me, and I find a sense of home.

Embracing grief and finding hope

I am on transformative journey of processing profound grief from losing my father twice, I have learned the importance of openly discussing my feelings and being kind to myself. This process of self-exploration and compassion also led me to connect with others who shared similar experiences, fostering empathy and understanding. Additionally, practicing self-care, such as going for walks, and enjoying my time alone became a vital part of my healing process. Ultimately, I discovered that acknowledging our feelings, seeking support, and extending kindness to ourselves and others can bring solace and meaning in the face of grief.

Through this journey of embracing grief and finding hope, I've come to realise that healing is not a destination but an ongoing process, one where compassion, self-care, and empathy continue to light the way forward. I am pleased to say I now feel more myself than I have felt in twenty years and I will continue to push to be the best version of myself.

My journey has taught me that grief shapes us into different characters, both our outer and inner selves. While I continue to live with the grief I've experienced, I've also discovered resilience and empathy within myself. This pain has made me wiser and more understanding of the world and my emotions. I've learned that it's okay to cry and that my grief doesn't define me. Through it all, I'm grateful for the precious time (however little) with my dad, the happiness he brought during my early years, and the laughter we shared. My love for him (as my dad used to say) will always reach to the moon and back again.