No longer alone.

For the longest time I felt very alone in my feelings of loss. I felt like no one really understood what it was like to experience the type of loss I have endured. Sure my sister and brother also lost their Father, but since we are not close, it is not like we talk about our feelings. My Mother is so broken, even after all this time, I prefer not to speak about the pain I carry around. Sure I lost my Dad, but my Mom,  lost her life partner of 30 years, the Father of her children and her best friend. She has enough pain to carry around, she doesn't need to carry mine too.

It has almost been a decade since my Father passed away.  I rarely speak from the heart about how my Father's death affected our family, but when I do I say something like, "you know when someone loses a family member, and the family sticks together and becomes really strong? We are not that family." My family fell apart, because we lost the glue. Not just with my immediate family, but I have also lost the connection with my Father's side of the family. I am not blaming them, as I am as much to blame. It's just different, because my Dad is suppose to be here. He is the connective tissue and without him, it is almost too much to bear. Too much to hear my Zia talk about him or talk about the trials and tribulations of his side of the family.

So for ten years, I have carried around this feeling of loss, of abandonment, and this saddened truth that we are the family that felt apart. No one really understands this feeling, so when this whole topic that rarely comes up in a conversation, is uncomfortably talked about,  people want to change the subject, or tell me something like, "it will get better", or "I am so sorry" or "I don't know what that feels like" or "I can't imagine what that feels like". Everyone I know, is either the family that never experienced this greatest loss or the family that sucked together.

Until recently....

Recently, I met someone who gets it.

They too lost their Father and their families connective tissue. They too know what it is like to experience the pain and the sadness of not only losing their Father, but their family as they knew it.

I find it comforting.

For the first time in ten years, I feel free. Free from being isolated by my feelings.

I am not happy that someone else has to experience this pain, but I am happy to know I am not alone with my thoughts and feelings.

The world got a little brighter for me these last few weeks and for that I am grateful.

Wait it out

Imogean Heap - Wait it out

I listen to the song 'Wait it out' by Imogean Heap and literally am lost in the words. She is not only my favourite artist, but the words in her song describe the emptiness that I deal with everyday.

'Where do we go from here? - How do we carry on I can't get beyond the questions'

'It cuts me with every could have been' - Tears, rolls down my face.  I am left with a hole in my heart, I am left with sadness.

'Pain on pain on play repeating....with a back up make shift life in waiting'. That is the life I dream of. The dream of my Dad being alive. For my Dad to meet my son, to know my husband, to give me advice and direction. To hug me, to laugh with me, to hold my hand as I walk through life. To support me and to unconditionally love me forever!

'Everybody says that time heals everything, but what of the wretched hollow, the endless in between, Are we just going to wait it out?

I just have to wait it out. Hoping that as her lyrics say, time will heal everything. Truth is, I am not sure if that is even possible.

The Shift

The end of summer beginning of Fall is when "The Shift" begins. It took me a few years to really understand the very weight of "The Shift" and how it is embedded in my soul. Even though I experience this every year, it still creeps up on me. I find myself doing ordinary things and my eyes fill with tears, I have less patience and my mind is not as clear. I am lost in the memories of summers past, where I spent the last days of summer with my family camping on a Lake near North Bay. That was the last time I saw my Father live the quality of life that was a total representation of his character; young, vibrant, adventurous and infectious. My Father and I spent time fishing and water skiing. My sister was 7 months pregnant, so she spent most of time sleeping and my Mom was doing what she normally did, tending to her loved ones, cooking the fish and making sure everyone else had a good time. My Dad had been fighting cancer for seven months so far and looked like he was beating it. Why wouldn't he? Dad was stronger than anyone I knew and would put younger men to shame. My Dad was the type, who never really wanted to grow up, he had a youthfulness about him his whole life. If anyone was going to beat cancer, he would. But he didn't.

"The Shift" for me, is the time between hope and the inevitable. "The Shift" is watching my Dad go from beating it, to losing the battle. "The Shift" are the emotions of that time, that no matter how many years passed, have left an imprint in my heart and mind.

I try to stay positive, I try and remember all the happy times we shared, I try and not feel sorry for myself. I try not to be bitter, I try not to be resentful and I try to understand. It is almost like, during "The Shift" I am not as strong, not as equipped to cope and not as "whole". I feel like I carry not just my grief around, but that of my Moms and that of our family, who in many ways fell apart when my Father died. I can't not help but get carried away in wishes and dreams of what life would be like if my Dad was still here today. I  find peace in two things, one that my Dad is no longer suffering and the other is in this prayer:

God grant me the serenity 

to accept the things I cannot change; 

courage to change the things I can;

and wisdom to know the difference.

"I hope you die"

These four words are a constant echo in my head. They are four words that I question, even today. They were spoken out of love. I said them because as much as I didn't want that to happen with everything in me, I realized that in death was freedom.

It was Saturday December 13th, 7:30am in the morning, and I was driving myself from Toronto to Port Credit to teach my Pilates classses. I pulled into the studio parking lot, turned off the car, took a deep breathe and said those four words out loud, "I hope you die." Then I cried. I cried because I vocalized my feelings, because I wasn't sure if those words meant I was giving up, being selfish or selfless. After a good cry I went and taught my classes but I did not turn off my cell phone, which I normally do. Two hours into the class I received a call from an unknown number. I answered it instead of ignoring it, another practice that is not normal for me. It was a family friend telling me that I need to get to the hospital where my Father was, that my Mom needed me. I had spent the last week with my Father at the hospital, the only reason I wasn't there was because he told me to go home and get back to my life, that he would be okay.

My Dad died 8 hours later.

The last thing I wanted was for my Dad to die. I wanted him to be happy and healthy and to be very much alive. I could not imagine my life without my Father. He was my rock, he was my best friend and my world was a much safer place with him part of it, I wanted him to be there every step of the way. I wanted him to meet the person I would marry and I wanted him to walk me down the aisle one day. I wanted him to be there when my child was born. I wanted him to be there when I had questions about life. I wanted him to be the glue to our family, like he always was. But as much as I wanted all of those things what I didn't want was for him to suffer or for him to be in pain. I was not sure how much more he could endure, and I was not sure how much my Mom could either.

The reality was that my Father had cancer, and he got a blood infection during his chemotherapy. His white blood cell count was .7, a normal WBC is in the range of 4.3-10.8. My Dad was weak and tired. The Doctors were talking about taping his eyes shot to conserve all his energy. He was less than 70lbs, instead of his robust 170. He would be too weak to have chemotherapy for a very long time, if ever. During that time the cancer would spread and he would be subjected to more pain and suffering. The reality was eventually my Dad would die, if not now then in a week, month or year from now.

It became clear that my biggest fear, a life without my Dad, was where my Father's peace lied. No more pain and no more suffering. So as hard as it was, it was time to let go. It was time for my Dad to die.

Even though I know all of this, as I have had plenty of time to reflect, and trust me, I reflect all too often, I still feel haunted that I said those words that day. My reality is those words and that day will always be the day my world was shattered.

Time heals everything...or does it?

My heart is so heavy today, but today is just one of many. I finally decided to share my thoughts and feelings because I know I am not the only one who suffers from losing a parent. There are many like me. Even though I know this, it doesn't make things hurt less.


My Father died December 13th, 2003, three days before my 28th birthday. He was diagnosed with non-hodgkin's lymphoma on February 13th, 2003. He died 10 months later. Since that day, I have never been the same and with everyday that passes, I realize that this is my reality. So does time heal everything? My answer is no. Time just allows you to learn how to cope and learn how to live differently. I am not crippled by my loss or by my broken heart, even though on my bad days, I do feel crippled and confused and incredibly sad. I wish more than anything my life was different. I wish I could call my Dad or better yet see him and just talk to him about my goals, my dreams and my fears. I wish he could give me advice and direction, just like he use to. Sometimes I feel like I am in a car driving some place I have never been with no directions. The only way I can describe how I feel is lost.


Sometimes days are easy and sometimes I get into this rut and feel so overwhelmed and I wonder when I will feel like I can really breathe again. Usually I know what ignites this feeling inside me, this time it was a dream I had when I was in Japan. I was there for two weeks with family travelling throughout the country. Japan is an important place for me, but long before I married and had a child with someone of Japanese heritage, it was a place that my Father had worked for awhile and held in such high regard. He had said that the one place he could have lived other than Canada and his native land of Italy was Japan. So for years I had always wondered what had impressed my Father so much about this country. So while I was in Japan night after night I had the same dream. One I wish I never woke up from,. At times I woke up feeling energized because I thought it was real, and then I was left with more sadness and more emptiness because I realized it wasn't. And here I am weeks later, still left with the after affects of the dream I had, still wishing it was not a dream at all.


The only thing about my dream that makes me laugh is because when I really think of the whole concept of the dream itself I think I either watch way too much Grey's Anatomy or House. Here it goes....


I finally visit my Father's grave, which I have not been to see yet, but it has been all turned over and the gravestone is gone. When I inquire with the Cemetery grounds keeper he directs me to the authorities and I find out that my Father is not dead at all. After trying to find out where he is, I am reconnected with my Dad. He wraps his arms around me and gives me the biggest hug. The hug is real. I remember the way I felt in the dream is a flashback to years of experiencing that exact same hug from when I hurt myself falling off a bike as a young child, or when I was hurt by a "stupid" boy.. it is the hug that makes me feel safe and loved. The same hug that I miss. I look at my Dad and he is smiling, and he has tears in his eyes. My Dad and I share many similar attributes, both good and bad, but one of the most beautiful things we share is our smiles. My Father and I begin catching up on the last six and a half years.....then I wake up.


I remember being it Tokyo the first night I was in Japan, having the dream, waking up and thinking, I need to call my Mom! I need to tell her that Dad is alive, that there has been a big mistake. And then reality sets in and I go through a roller coaster of emotions but am left with one, sadness.


What I would give for that dream to be real.


Per sempre con amore Papa. And in English: For always with love.


I miss you more today.....