Read on Twitter
A Father& #39;s Day thread
I always have a lot of people checking up on me on this day. I think it& #39;s a normal response if you know someone who lost a parent, especially if it was a traumatic death. It& #39;s easy to see that the intent is pure, and for the most part it is appreciated...
I always have a lot of people checking up on me on this day. I think it& #39;s a normal response if you know someone who lost a parent, especially if it was a traumatic death. It& #39;s easy to see that the intent is pure, and for the most part it is appreciated...
But I do find these messages draining.
I& #39;m very open about my dad& #39;s death. It wasn& #39;t the peaceful in-his-sleep kind and the memories of that day are surreal. Some parts I can recall with absolute clarity, while others are a darkened haze.
I& #39;m very open about my dad& #39;s death. It wasn& #39;t the peaceful in-his-sleep kind and the memories of that day are surreal. Some parts I can recall with absolute clarity, while others are a darkened haze.
It was a perfect storm of peace and violence, and it rocked my family to its core. The pain is nothing like the time-healing wound everyone tells you about. Instead, it& #39;s a damp, dark cloud that creeps into your life. Pervasive and ever-present.
I don& #39;t think it& #39;s possible to ever get over the trauma, but you do get used to the cloud& #39;s presence. Days like Father& #39;s Day are difficult though. It& #39;s a very visual reminder of loss, but also a time of reflection on the person& #39;s contribution to your life& #39;s journey.
I avoid avoid social media, because it& #39;s easier for me to focus on my own memories of my dad than it is to see other people making new memories with theirs.
I always write, and sometimes post these words. I look at pictures. I play Pearl Jam& #39;s Man of the Hour. I think. I reflect. I take stock of the cloud.
I do all of this on my own terms.
I can& #39;t do this with other people& #39;s messages, and my responses often feel performative.
I do all of this on my own terms.
I can& #39;t do this with other people& #39;s messages, and my responses often feel performative.
As I said I can see the intent, but I struggle to navigate these messages. It& #39;s difficult to hear how someone can& #39;t imagine how tough this day is when you don& #39;t have a choice in any of it, or how strong they think you are when you don& #39;t necessarily feel it.
I try to thank everyone for their words, but my responses always sound hollow to me.
I want to live this day within the context of my normality the same way everyone else does: To appreciate my dad in a way that I am able to.
Today the messages robbed me of this.
I want to live this day within the context of my normality the same way everyone else does: To appreciate my dad in a way that I am able to.
Today the messages robbed me of this.
It& #39;s not the first time I& #39;ve felt this way. It actually happens quite a lot. But I& #39;ve never spoken about it because up until now I& #39;ve felt that the good intentions out-weighed the impact. It& #39;s tricky to find a balance between checking up on your friends and feeding their cloud.
So while it& #39;s a difficult conversation to have, a lesson I& #39;ve taken from today is that we all need to take some time out to have an honest discussion with our friends about how best to keep a pulse on how we& #39;re coping
https://abs.twimg.com/emoji/v2/... draggable="false" alt="đ»" title="Sonnenblume" aria-label="Emoji: Sonnenblume">
Let me end this thread with this gemhttps://abs.twimg.com/emoji/v2/... draggable="false" alt="đ" title="Gesicht mit FreudentrĂ€nen" aria-label="Emoji: Gesicht mit FreudentrĂ€nen">
" title="Let me end this thread with this gemhttps://abs.twimg.com/emoji/v2/... draggable="false" alt="đ" title="Gesicht mit FreudentrĂ€nen" aria-label="Emoji: Gesicht mit FreudentrĂ€nen">" class="img-responsive" style="max-width:100%;"/>
