I received this heartbreaking and inspiring anonymous response to an earlier post, The Hierarchy of Grief: Who is the biggest loser? which explores the self-imposed hierarchies of grief we create, about the odd categories of who gets to feel saddest and why, who counts and who doesn't. This reader offers a lovely and aching story of a father who was elusive and lost and nearly impossible to love. Nearly. Impossible.

And it's also the story of an adult child of an addict who found a way make peace with the life and death of a father who was there, and then wasn't, there, and then wasn't. This person wonders so beautifully what could have been, what should have been, and how one is supposed to feel.

All I can say after reading this is whatever you feel, embrace yourself and your openness to eeking out that last bit of love. What a generous, life-affirming path you chose. Of course you're ambivalent and confused. But ambivalence, confusion and bewilderment are far healthier emotions to live with than rage or denial or searing pain and relentless guilt. How proud he must have been. How proud you should be.

What a gift you gave him. And yourself. Now you can live. May you both rest in peace.

"Thank you all for sharing your thoughts... It gives me some sort of weird company in my bewilderment of "grief". The bewilderment of my "grief" is that.... Well, I don't really feel grief at all. Weird, but honest. I feel guilt, more than anything for not feeling grief. I feel selfish, for thinking of things in life that make me happy.... Big or small...From the Peace and Protection of God... to simply receiving something in the mail that I ordered. I have this lump of guilt in my throat after feelings of happiness. I do feel sad, now and again, when I think of things I wish I would've said to my dad, and how I wish I would've invited him down to see me and where I live...

When I think of how I can't ever laugh about childhood memories with him again... Or when I wish I would have tried harder to help him in life. My parents divorced when I was about 12. My dad had lost a long battle to drugs and violence... After my parents divorced, he had no one to support him. So, he just roamed around... Hopping from place to place, picking up odd-end jobs here and there, doing just enough to get by. He had no "home", no loved one to come home to, a lot of bitterness, and essentially nothing in his life that mattered to him, except for all of us kids.

I can remember being so angry with my dad for the pain and suffering that he had put my mom through. I resented him so much... Until one day. One day, I had this conviction. I had this guilt wash over me, when I thought, "If my dad died, would I even cry? Would I go to the funeral, hold a straight face, an upright posture, and bold-face not even cry? Or worse... Would I not even go to the funeral?" I remembered having those awful thoughts just a few years after the divorce, and I felt guilty about it. So, I picked up the phone on his birthday, and I called him to wish him a happy birthday. It. Made. His. Day. Maybe it made a lot of days for him? It did for him what meth could never do.... It fulfilled his heart. Just one conversation. Just words of love and comfort. It did unspeakable things for him, and he was so thankful. He drove 1,500 miles to see me. He had no job. No car. No money. But you know what? He found a way. And we made one of the most memorable memories of my life. Okay, now my eyes are watering. No tears yet... But it's progress, right? : )

We enjoyed a weekend under the sun. He taught me how to surf. We took pictures. We sat on the sand. We enjoyed some good ol' fashioned, father-daughter time, and I was at peace. At peace with all of the water under the bridge. At peace with the pain that he inflicted. At peace with God for showing me His face through such pain and confusion. At peace. Fast forward years later into my adult life. My siblings and I are all grown... Some with full-blown families, some not. I, being the only one, moved off to pursue my dreams in my career, being passionate and stubborn, just like him...

I visited often, always keeping in touch with my dad and scheduling time to visit with him, when time and events allowed. He showed so much love. He was so proud of me. (watery eyes again) He loved my boyfriend. My boyfriend had so much respect for him. My dad was so generous with him. He loved him too. He always made sure that we were taking care of each other. Everything was peaceful... or so it seemed. Mom had moved on. She was seeing someone, for the first time, about 12 years after the divorce. Dad came around for the holidays... or every time he was invited. He kept in close contact with our oldest brother, with whom he did a lot of running around. All was well. We were at peace. No fighting, no violence, no drugs or heavy drinking that we were aware of. He even looked healthy. He looked tan, full enough to not be underweight, and thin enough to not be overweight. He looked great. He seemed great. He would even send frequent, loving or funny text messages. He had a great sense of humor... One of the best I know. Actually, he was kind of hilarious. He was a good man.

Until one day, he just disappeared. Vanished. No one had heard from him in months. Then, the news flashed findings of human bones in a wooded area near a family member's house. Thanksgiving rolled around... No dad. Then, Christmas... Still no dad. We all got to talking about it, and come to find out, we had all received an affectionate message from him on the same day... and that was the last that was heard of him. While nothing is official, nothing has been announced, we all know.

We know the truth, and it is a very bewildered feeling that I have. My siblings are grieving, I suppose, in the proper, for lack of better words... Or maybe in a more normal way. Crying. Reminiscing. Checking on each other, including me, often. Being very supportive. Planning ways to bring closer to it all. Then, there is me. I am always the "one-off", so to speak. I'm just here... Thinking of my dad and grieving loved ones, often, but not really sure how to respond, but trusting God. I am trusting that he is loving me, and protecting me and letting me experience the situation from a different perspective. Spoiling me rotten, the way that He always does. He is my ultimate Father. He is raising me into an adult. He is guiding me in very cool ways in life... Through incredible circumstances, and even better... Through the most remarkable people. So, while I'm feeling kind of like a weirdo, for not grieving in a very typical way. I also feel.... Well, like myself. Very atypical. Very.... Just how God intended. Very loved. Very protected. Very confused. Even kind of awkward about it, at times. But God is good... And so was my dad."

God gives. God takes. May his name be ever blessed.

Job 1:21

About the Author

Pam Cytrynbaum

Pamela Cytrynbaum teaches at Northwestern University's Medill School of Journalism.

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