Losing my dad hit me like a freight train outta nowhere. Felt like my guts got ripped out when I got that call from the hospital. Couldn’t even stand up straight for three days straight, just curled up on my bathroom floor vomiting every time I tried to eat toast.
The First Messy Weeks
My buddy forced me to shower on day four. Stood outside the bathroom door yelling “scrub your damn hair!” while I cried under scalding water. Didn’t help that I had to handle all the legal crap:
- Death certificates – made 20 copies ’cause everybody wanted one
- Bank stuff – found dad hid cash in cookie tins (classic)
- Funeral plans – picked the ugliest urn ever then changed it next day
How I Stopped Drowning
Started doing one weird thing every sunset: screaming into dad’s old flannel shirt. Smelled like gasoline and Old Spice. Felt stupid but damn it released pressure. Then I tried these:
- Grief journaling – wrote angry letters then burned ’em in the BBQ grill
- Schedule hacking – blocked 3-4PM daily for “dad memories time”
- Physical loopholes – punched sofa cushions till my knuckles bled
The Turning Point
Mom found dad’s unfinished birdhouse in the garage. We spent Saturday sanding splinters off that stupid thing, crying over power tools. Finished it drunk on cheap wine and hung it crooked in our peach tree. First time I laughed since he died – looked like a drunk carpenter built it.
Now? Still grab his flannel when storms hit. Still cry at ATM machines ’cause he always forgot his PIN. But I plant tomatoes every May like he taught me – talk to ’em while watering like they’re his dumb jokes. Healing’s just learning to carry the ache without dropping everything else.
