Navigating the Loss of My Dad: A Personal Journey

My dad passed away suddenly in May at age 65.

He died at home with his dog by his side, which is the way he would have wanted to go. There’s some consolation to that thought.

With the cause of his death being unknown, we’ve been left grappling with questions we will probably never get answers for, as well as the unknown.

(His death is currently under coronial investigation, a process that takes time – how long is a piece of string?).

Stepping up to administer his affairs as the oldest child was my conscious choice. Despite the challenges of navigating government and business bureaucracy, family and friend dynamics, and other factors, it’s given me a sense of purpose and helped me get through the last few months.

We held a private viewing, respecting his wish to avoid a formal funeral. He wanted to be buried in a cardboard box—a request we couldn’t fulfil, but he did receive a simple coffin. The viewing was intimate and beautiful.

It was his five kids and our partners and him in his simple coffin bathed in the sunlight that chose to shine down on him on that winters day.

I am grateful to have been blessed with support from many people, some of whom were complete strangers but are now like family. Thank you especially to my hubby and Dad’s partner.

Clearing out his home so soon after his death was both physically and emotionally painful.

Dad lived in a rental house filled with a lifetime of possessions (or rather, multiple lifetimes, as there were some of Grandad’s stuff from the farm and things belonging to other people I don’t even know).

It took seven weeks of hard work, day in and day out. Sorting through his belongings, unfinished projects, and sentimental items was joyful, enlightening, saddening and heartbreaking.

It’s the small things that jump out as you wade through what remains of someone’s life.

An old blanket or tin or Knick knack he hung onto from when I was little.

A lifetime of photos, which feel like many of them were only taken yesterday.

His bogan tank tops, flannos and DBs just sitting there, as if they are waiting for him to come home.

The pile of curry mix boxes from hampers my hubby and I had given him over the last few years. He’d cooked them all and kept the boxes neatly folded in a kitchen drawer. I can’t bring myself to throw them away…

And many stories shared.

Of the man and his life from all different perspectives. A miner. A friend. A brother. A lover. A dad. A troublemaker. An ex.

Some good, some bad, some things you hadn’t heard before, some things you wish you could know more about, and some things you wish you hadn’t heard,

I’m not naive. I know my Dad had a temper, loved the ladies, lived life in compartments, and had a lot of demons and regrets of which he’d finally started to deal with. I heard the time ‘storied’ life not long after he died, and that would be one way to sum up Dad’s life, just not so romanticised.

But he was my Dad and I loved him.

We’d talked a lot over the years, healed and had arrived in a place where we had good, respectful and loving relationship.

My last memories, the ones I choose to focus on today, are of a big, anxious, introverted, loving and supportive man who was just as awkward as me, loved a good curry.

I’ll miss hearing his voice and receiving his texts, along with his complete acceptance of me for me, and how proud he was of me, no matter what.

Reflections and Moving Forward

Grief is a complex journey.

It’s a rollercoaster of emotions, memories, questions and realisations.

There is a beauty in allowing yourself to feel all of the emotions. They are all valid and okay!

It’s not a race to ‘get over’ your grieving either. That will take as long as it takes. People have shared with me that you don’t actually ‘get over it’, but that it does get easier with time.

When someone you know dies, you can find strength you didn’t know you had, even though, at the same time, you feel you are on the precipice of falling apart at any moment – and find yourself doing just that.

And then there are the thoughts about the conversations you wish you’d had, questions you wish you’d asked, time you wish you’d spent with them.

The “I just wish I’d…” thoughts are inevitable, but you can’t live in regret; it will eat you alive.

Death also makes you think about your mortality and the mortality of the loved ones left in your life.

It’s a reality check to get your affairs in order.

Label your possessions – who would you like them to go to if something happens to you?

Make a will and set up a power of attorney. Nominate an administrator. Tell people where your will is kept and have open and frank discussions to make your wishes known. It will make life so much easier for those left behind. It will still be hard, but it will be simpler.

As I move forward, I’m learning to embrace the lessons my Dad’s life and death have taught me. The importance of preparedness, the value of open communication, and the need to live and cherish our time with loved ones and the time we have left.

And now our lives go on.

It’s time for reflection, healing and rebuilding.

And my heart glows in seeing his dog, who was a one-man anxious dog, slowly open up, lean into her new life and accept butt scratches and all willingly.

Thank you for sharing in this part of my journey.

If you’ve experienced similar losses, know that you’re not alone.

Let’s continue to support each other through the tough times and celebrate the memories of those we’ve lost.