Members scy Posted November 11, 2013 Members Report Share Posted November 11, 2013 My father passed away late July of 2012, six days after being diagnosed with liver cancer. I was 21.The day before his death, I found him in his bed, delirious and non-responsive, so I called an ambulance. During his stay in the hospital, however, help was not forthcoming, and he only became more and more delirious; it got so bad that, at one point, he was on the bed in the fetal position, his eyes wide open and mechanically scanning from one side of the room to the other, seeing nothing while gibbering complete nonsense: where there was once a repertoire of witty humor (the kind that was often inappropriate but always hilarious) there were only screams of pain and shouts of directionless anger; where there was once twinkling eyes and affectionate winks, there was only the absence of recognition--whenever he occasionally set his eyes upon me, he would stare for a few moments and then cry out either in rage or horror: who or what did he see when he looked at me?I watched helplessly while my father's condition deteriorated until his convulsions slowed and finally, inevitably stopped the following day; the first feeling I had was not sorrow but relief--it pains me to say--that he was finally released from that nightmarish state. I remember being struck with surprise (though not anger) at how little an effect my father's death had on the scene: there was a brief "I'm sorry for your loss" styled interaction with the doctor on call (truly an unenviable role), and that was it; no family there to watch his passing (myself excluded); no teary-eyed goodbyes to be had between father and son. After 61 years of a rough life, he just died, and no one had any say in the matter. Though the funeral followed my father's death promptly, the thing in the casket looked less like my father and more like a poor quality wax model bearing his vague likeness: uncanny valley. I think looking at the corpse in the casket was what finally told me that my dad was never coming back; after the funeral, I found an unoccupied room and wept for the first time in years.The experience changed me. I had been an average student working towards an English major with a 3.0 the semester before he died; now I'm finishing up the last half of my MS in Biomedical Engineering with a 4.0 (in a field where graduate work is actually difficult). Before, I was happy just lazing about, reading books, playing games, hanging with friends and flirting with the fairer sex. I haven't been able to enjoy any of those things since he's been gone; even the book I had been working on so fervently--my baby--has remained untouched for the last year. In its place stands the cold, unfeeling sentinel that is Scientific Endeavor (which has its charm; how many people get to build a prosthetic leg that you can control with your mind? Beats me, but I'm one of 'em!); I've replaced my sense of fun with an unforgiving work ethic and my imagination with logical analysis. However, the most disturbing thing is where I was often described as being very cheerful and mellow (a description that I feel was accurate), now I have difficulties controlling my anger and can no longer recall the last time I was happy (and self-aware); in the last year, I've managed to alienate several of my friends, worry my remaining family, and even get myself into not one but two fist-fights (though my abused face has since been able to convince me that perhaps my career as an impromptu prize fighter is not as promising as I once believed). What is this? The loss of innocence? Depression? Chronic indigestion? Incredibly tiresome and a bit of a pain in the ass? (Yes.) Regardless, it's been a year and a half, and I still want to punch in the nearest undeserving wall of sufficient softness (something between feather pillow and cardboard would be preferable).I am angry, I'm mad, I'm boring, and I'm sick of it.I'm starting to think that 'healing' is less about recovering from a devastating emotional blow, and more about learning how to live with the wounds and make the best of it. Still, is it normal to be so angry about the loss of a loved one? It's starting to scare me how much less like myself I've become. Thanks for reading/enduring.----------Thank you for the responses; it means a lot to me. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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