They say we heal after losing someone close, but I say the pain never goes away. We learn living with the pain, manage it the best we can but I don’t think it ever goes away, it becomes part of us. As I am typing, tears are streaming down my face. This is the first time I am sharing this so publicly.

I lost my father 15 years ago today. This day is never easy… I will never forget getting that phone call from my mom in the middle of the night. I was up studying for my final exams at Uni. I had gone back to studying and was working a full-time job. I was living in the capital, hundreds miles away from home. At that time, flying was not an option for me so I had to take an overnight train the next evening. I had lots of friends around me, all supporting me, but it was very difficult not having family around.

I had a complicated relationship with my dad. We had our ups and downs as I was growing up and during my teenage years. I didn’t understand what he was going through. I was consumed with figuring myself out and how I was fitting into life.

I understand now though… We all did our best. At the time he passed away, we were doing much better. It felt like we were mending fences and I was getting much closer to him. Him passing away was a complete shock and an abrupt stop to everything. It was difficult to comprehend that that was it… we had no more time left together. I remember the desperation of not knowing what happened, not being connected to that family nucleus to draw some energy from the collective grief to keep going. So, I had to pull myself together, put one foot in front of the other and go back to my hometown.

I don’t remember much of the details of what happened in the days after I got back home. I only remember snippets… They come back from now and then when I think about him. For many years, I could not think about him without bursting into tears even though I would fight my hardest to keep back the tears. I didn’t want to show weakness. I didn’t know… no one told me that it is ok to feel that way. I always felt I had to be the strongest, find solutions to everything, be there for everyone. Of course, I would excel at everything I was doing because I never understood that we don’t always have to be the best or perfect. Nothing or no one in this world is. I would be very hard on myself. It got better though… I understand now that all I can do is my best and I always try my hardest, but I no longer always feel that pressure that all has to be perfect. It took me years and years of therapy to reach that wisdom ha ha ha Don’t get me wrong, I am still working on this, and will probably, to the day I die! 🙂

I’ve always kept this pain inside, but I think it is now time to let it out by talking about it. It’s still my pain to bear but it’s somehow easier to do so when the scars are on the outside. I don’t have to hide it anymore or keep it silent within me. I feel this is part of my healing process and self-discovery.

Even after so many years, it still feels like I just lost him. Acceptance is difficult but I decided a long time ago to accept that things have happened as they have, work my way through understanding why they did and eventually let go of all that I should not be carrying around with me and move forward by remembering him simply as dad.

I will always remember how he used to take me to all the local club’s football games every Saturday 11:00 am, he loved cooking an outdoor bogracs gulyas (Hungarian beef stew) and grill his mici / mititei (Romanian street food sausages without casing), decorating the Christmas tree (all four of us had very clear responsibilities: mom would be pottering around in the kitchen, my brother and I would be decorating the tree and then mom and dad would come and inspect the result 🙂 ), and so much more.

Also, he taught me to dance. And to celebrate that, here is a picture of us dancing 🙂

Miss B x