The Aftermath - A Daughter’s Prospective

It has been 3 months now since I was forced to say goodbye to my dad.  The funeral has passed, the flowers sent have long died, and from my perspective, everyone's world is as normal as ever (well, whatever is considered to be "normal" during a pandemic).  But, there is one world not even close to being normal, and that is mine.

My world still seems like I am living in a hazy fog, almost like a dream world except it is more like a nightmare. I still manage daily to get up and go about my day.  I work remote full time all while being a mom, a caregiver, a maid and basically a stay-at-home school teacher with the fun filled nights of helping with homework until my kids eyes are pretty much shut.  I get it, that is the life of most parents right now with their kids.  But at the end of each and every long day, it's the aftermath of my dad's passing that hurts the most.

It is all the things that come along with the death of a loved one that you really don't want to handle but have no choice but to.  It has been helping my mom with the endless phone calls to notify places of my dad's passing. The mailing of death certificates to make sure all things get closed out properly.  It's the handling of personal affairs along with a long list of "to do's" that never seem to end.  But most of all, it is the constant reminders of my dad that make me sad.  It's not the happy, reflective memories I am talking about.  It's the daily reminders everywhere that he is no longer with us.  From the cleaning out of his closet and drawers all while finding one of his most prized possessions; a t-shirt. You see, he had this particular shirt that is now about 35 years old.  It was an old roller skating shirt he got for himself from one of my regional competitions one year and he had the words "Trisha's Dad" heat pressed onto the back. I remember he used to wear that t-shirt proudly and never could seem to part with it. It is now in my possession and I will tuck it away with pride.

But it is also things like the disposal of all his daily medications that used to fill the counter tops that make me sad. It is the vision of seeing the daily mail that is still addressed to Jan Tompkins as well as even the simplest of things like helping my mom throw away those last few apple sauces that were lingering around in the refrigerator that only my dad would eat. I hated to throw them away but like everyone says, life must go on.  

What I find myself asking is, how exactly is life supposed to just go on?  I still find myself having to explain to my kids over and over again why people must die, why cancer sucks and no, unfortunately, you will never see grandpa again in this life.  And oh yeah, sorry Lorenzo, but grandpa can't come back to life to watch the movie Souls with you for about the 13th time. 

The aftermath is also the seeing of people that you don't see every day that ask, "Hey, how's your dad doing?"  Like the UPS driver that used to have my parent’s route probably 15 years ago and just recently got assigned to it again around Christmas time.  He knocked on my parent’s door to say hi to everyone because him and my dad used to talk back in the day...about everything!  The look on his face when my mom told him the news was almost hard to witness.  He went silent and was at a loss for words. As he sat and watched my mom tear up, he really didn't know what to say nor do I think he had the heart to ask many questions so he just slowly walked back to his truck and simply stated, "I am so very sorry."

It's that kind of aftermath that hurts. Every night while at my moms, I still see his empty chair. The chair he pretty much lived in since his cancer diagnosis.  I have many flashbacks regarding that chair. Whether it be from when i would take his blood pressure, check his temperature, or just help fix the oxygen tube that used to periodically come out of his nose. That chair reminds me of so many things.  But as he sat in that chair sick himself, he was still worrying about everyone else because that is just what he would do. And so many times from that chair when my mom used to help give him his medication and she would start to cry, he'd always say, "I don't want you to cry." I still have to remind my mom now of my dad's words that he used to tell her.  Dad wouldn't want you to sit here and cry, but of course it doesn't help as she sits and watches those Hallmark movies back-to-back that somehow, without fail, trigger a time in her life within her 52 years of marriage to my dad that nonetheless seems to produce the tears.  

But with all the sadness, there are times that I get really clear, really vivid, old memories that come back to life as if they just happened yesterday.  I was at the store the other day, CVS to be exact (because that is usually one of my only adventures nowadays aside from the bank) and I pulled out my credit card to pay. Then a memory from like 1994 came to me. It was so clear, so real.  I remembered being inside of Macys, I was about 19 years old at the time.  I was at the makeup counter and somehow got sucked into sitting in the makeup chair and having some guy basically "recreate" my face.  And it was at that moment that I got sucked in. Sucked in so much that he had to convince and explain to me why it was such a good idea to pay $89 for a eyeshadow palette because in his words, "Nothing spreads like a Dior." I will never forget that line he gave me.  And it worked because I think I ended up spending about $175 in makeup that night.  Although, that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that I used my dad's credit card to pay for it because I knew he would "understand.” 

I got back to my parent’s house that night and my dad was still up.  I said "Dad, don't hate me, but first of all, how does my makeup look?"  Of course, he said he liked it and I replied back with "Thank goodness because you paid for it."  He chuckled and said "I did?"  And then I felt guilty and proceeded to say I would return it all. He said "No, keep it. If you really like it, then keep it. But hey, what ever happened to my daughter that used to be happy with buying Wet n Wild from Longs?  I could handle that price tag!"

No matter what, my dad supported me.  He made me feel worthy even at my darkest times.  He helped me deal with boys that broke my heart all while educating me on why they were never good enough for me in the first place. I used to think, if only I were prettier, if only I had blonde hair and blue eyes like most of my friends in school aside from a few. If only I had been lucky enough to be able to go to school with wet hair out of the shower and leave the first period like I just came out of a salon but that was not the case with me. You must remember, I am half Puerto Rican and our hair is not the type to just take a shower and go. We must load on the frizz ease, dry, straighten, curl, then spray before walking out that door.  My hair was and always has been a struggle.  I will always remember my Sophomore year in high school.  It was a Saturday and it was the day of our Valentines Dance that evening.  My mom had made me an appointment to get some hair extensions put in my hair because I had begged my parents for months.  My dad could not figure out what hair extensions even were.  Remember, this was 1991, not 2021.  Hair extensions were extremely rare back then but we happened to find a place that did them.  I was so excited because I thought I'd be leaving the salon with this super long, full, voluminous hair but instead...not the case at all.

My mother and I got home and I sat down at the kitchen table where my brother and dad just looked at me with these blank stares. I said, "Tell me the truth, how bad does it look?"  They both agreed that yes, my hair had seen better days and they were actually surprised that someone would even charge us money for that. Well, in actuality, they charged my dad because again, he was the one that paid for it.  I cried right there and my dad looked at my mom and said, "Just take them out. If she hates them that much, then just take them out."  I felt so horrible that my dad's money was going to waste.  He told me he didn't want to see me cry so after my mom took them all out, my dad told me to go get ready for my dance. He then drove me to my dance later that night and began to tell me that he felt I was perfect just the way I was.  Long hair, thin hair, short hair, no hair, it didn't matter to him.  He always gave me confidence, and for that, I am forever grateful to him. He let me live and learn but never made me do it alone.

The time has now come to accept this new norm.  To accept this aftermath for what it is and to accept that my dad is never coming back.  We will all continue to mourn him in our own ways and to envision what it will be like when we one day see him on the other side.  If only I could tell him one more time how much I love him or take one more trip to the bank or the grocery store with him.  I would give anything for that but if any lesson is to be learned in all of this, it is to remember that one day, a tomorrow for somebody will start without someone they love.  Make no room for regrets as tomorrow is never promised and today is short.  You will only know the true gift of your parents once you see their "empty chair."

—Trisha

"Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory."  Dr. Seuss