The Day After
The halls of my junior high were louder the day after my father died, full of audible whispers comprising a cacophony of sympathy I was not ready to accept, not ready to hear echoing off lockers I once looked forward to opening daily.
Strangers looked at me with tears in their eyes. Teachers spoke gently, pulled me aside before and after classes to offer condolences. “Was there anything they could do?” they asked a little too loudly.
I despised their gentleness. I abhorred being special in the way I now was. Every teenager wants to be recognized, to be noticed, to be praised for exceptional test scores, for record-breaking attendance, for unparalleled athletic ability. No one wants to be the girl without a father.
No one wanted to be me, but they all felt sorry for me, and I felt sorry for me, too. “Why did she make me go to school today?” I wondered silently as the flood of unwelcome well-wishing rushed onward. The notes, the cliché and abundant pats on the back, the “While you’re grieving” cards. All of it a cruel, unfunny, pathetically maddening joke.
I wore my grief like a badge I had not earned. I smiled wryly as classmates who once ignored me now looked on, interested. My best friends had little to say. Their mothers had advised them to be calm, to be quiet. I wanted to scream, to slur profanities like sloppy joes across the cafeteria, to kick and fight, and flee every wayward glance that sought to canvass my grief. Grief I had not yet been given ample time to process and actually feel.
I was twelve, almost thirteen. No one had taught me how to lose my father.
I would have sooner kicked someone in the shins than cried. I wouldn’t realize I was allowed to feel anything but sorrow until college. Someone kind, a Professional, would tell me anger is normal, to be expected. One of many phases I would be forced to traverse on a rocky road to healing.
That Monday I mostly felt nothing. I walked around a mere shell of myself, stoic and uncompromising in shoes wherein I had so recently stood outspoken and confident. I wasn’t accustomed to everyone staring. There were questions. Too many questions to which I had no answers. Not then, not yet. He was dead. Yes, he died. Drowned. I don’t know. No, no funeral yet. Maybe. Mike. His name was Mike. Michael Francis Ladish. He was my father, the deceased. What does it matter if he’s being cremated? I DON’T KNOW.
Years later I would fabricate a conversation in my head between my mother and myself.
“Mom, you know you shouldn’t have sent us back to school the day after he died.”
“I know, dear. I thought it would help.”
“You only thought it would help you.”
“I know, dear.”
beautiful post. and as someone who lost his mom immediately after high school, i can definitely emphathize. A return to normalcy, they call it. how can you act “normal” when something like this happens. And you hit it exactly on the head. Every teen wants attention but not in that way. Loss of a parent never goes away. Just like you, I still write about it…if only to “return to normal.”
The best friend of my life lost his dad at that age. The fallout was horrible and very wide. I’ve watched him struggle to deal with it for 20 years and it is staggering to me.
I’ve had horrible loss, and now I can look back and see what behaviors were due to misplaced grief and I feel so sad that he didn’t have anyone to help him. Now he would be in grief counseling but then? Kids just didn’t DO that. And he suffered for it.
I had huge fallout but at least I am an adult. I just cannot imagine trying to wrap your head around that as a tween.
This was a beautiful post.
As I said before, I can NOT imagine what it must be like to lose your father… (and I absolutely dread the day when my Dad will leave me in the way your father left you when you were 12).
Still, I don’t think it would have made a difference if your mother had let you stay home the day after… because any day that you would have returned to school would have somehow been “the day after” and people would have still reacted the same way.
The sad thing is, nobody EVER teaches us how to handle grief… we all must go through it sooner or later (although, I know, rather later…).
hugs to you, my friend.
You successfully managed to make me cry at my desk. My mom lost her mother when she was the exact same age. She has told me stories about what that was like, and after reading yours I come to the same conclusion … I still have absolutely no idea how terrible that must feel.
This was a terribly sad, terribly beautiful piece. Hugs.
oh, i love this…
this line:
I was twelve, almost thirteen. No one had taught me how to lose my father.
kills me.
off to stumble this..:)
I’m sad for the 12-year-old kerri anne too. for the incredibly strong woman she’s become, i’ve got nothing but admiration and love.
Oh, beautiful post, Kerri. You are fantastic.
Oh, sweetie. I really cannot imagine what you have gone through. Just sending you love and hugs…
Wow. This is so powerfully written. I’ve always feared losing a parent. I imagine it is difficult at any time, but especially so as a child.
:(
I’m so sorry you had to go through any of this. Losing your dad (and so young), answering The Questions, trying to grieve while dealing with all the eyes on you…
My kingdom for a mom who could admit (years later) her mistakes. Peace to you…and to her.
i just want to hug you so much. my dad died when i was a junior in high school, and he was a teacher AT my high school, so i can totally relate to having everyone stare at you and whisper as you pass them in the halls. it was awful, and i just hid from all my feelings for years and years. too bad we couldn’t have been there to support each other, eh? :-/
I dropped out of school after my dad died but I was 19 and had that option. I can only imagine how extremely difficult that was to go to school so soon after your father’s passing at that age. :-(
This though: “to slur profanities like sloppy joes across the cafeteria” is a fantastic image. Great writing in this piece.
Big Hug.
no words of mine can add to this post. just thank you once again for sharing yourself. I feel like a better person for having read this…. having witnessed YOU.
As an adult, it’s hard to come to grips with death. As a child and/or teenager, it’s even more baffling. I’m sorry your mother didn’t let you find your way with grieving that next day. It’s actually quite heartbreaking.
I can’t imagine how hard that must have been. You’re a strong cookie.
That just breaks my heart. I think people think getting back to “normal” and in a routine will makes things easier. But I’m not sure that they actually ever do. But it seems like a good solution.
Beautiful writing. Excellent post.
Forget about returning to normal, I say. After losing a loved one, you are changed forever, never to be the same person again. I have experienced many such losses throughout my life, and now at 37 years old, I’ve experienced another.
On August 4, a younger brother of a friend of mine, shot himself in the head with a 9mm handgun while sitting in his pickup truck, parked in the driveway at his mother’s south Louisiana home. He passed away at the hospital some 5 hours later. He was just 23 years old.
The reasons that he chose to take his own life are unclear at this time, but I’m sure those reasons will never make sense to us.
Could I have said or done something to prevent this? Probably not, but I will never know.
So, life goes on for me. But, once again I am forever changed by tragedy and sorrow. Forget about returning to normal, I say.
Thanks for allowing me to share. You can’t imagine how hard it is for a 37 year-old oilfield worker to express his feelings to his friends, coworkers, and family.
Sending an understanding hug your way.