Surviving Firsts-My Dad's Tattered Bible

I had seven years to mentally prepare myself for my father’s death. Seven years of battling cancer and its horrific aftermath. Four years of watching my father struggle with severe dysphagia while surviving on a Peg Tube.  Four years of singing “Happy Birthday”, blowing out candles only to take the cake away from him.  Four years of holidays with my father watching us eat while he ingested the same boring formula through his peg tube and trembled in pain. Four years of our family begging God for mercy.   Four years of praying for just one more meal with my Dad. 

I spent years trying to imagine my father’s death, my life without him. When he died nothing could have prepared me for the tedium, alarm and agony. Doctors and nurses poking and prodding his weak body, the deafening sounds of machines beeping followed by his screams.  Perhaps the worst part was the intrusive visitors judging my father's appearance while "visiting" with unsolicited assessments on what needed to be done based on useless information gathered by Dr. Google.

So now here I am fatherless and totally heartbroken.  

I’m learning that when someone you love dies, you don’t just say goodbye the moment they pass away but at every crossroad.  I’m learning that there are endless firsts and very difficult moments to survive.  We have the traditional horrific first holidays, birthday and special events, but we also have to endure countless other firsts that are even more challenging.  The firsts that leave you drowning in tidal waves of grief. 

Each first brings a flood of emotions that can become debilitating, leaving me feeling like a fish swimming upstream.

My father left behind a tattered, highlighted bible that he read daily.  Just yesterday, I was flipping through the pages and found notes in his shaky penmanship.  I was about halfway through the reading and the tears started.  It hit me, my father is no longer here to sit at the table and read his bible.  I no longer have the opportunity to sit at the table with my father, hold his hands and listen to him read the bible.  I prayed with my Dad when he asked me to, but this was the first time I was actually reading HIS bible, reading HIS notes and he was not there.  Instantly I felt sick, my head was pounding and my heart was breaking all over again.

It's shocking how one minute someone is breathing and the next they are not. One moment someone is speaking to you and the next they are gone.  To simply say, “I miss my father” is a massive understatement.

Yesterday left me wondering, will this get easier when all the firsts are exhausted and they are now seconds and thirds?  Will the pain lessen and form a scab?  When can I hold my father’s tattered bible and not sob like a child?

What about you?  How are your surviving your firsts, seconds and thirds?