a brutally beautiful life
As 2020 drew to a close, much was being written about renewed hope, a fresh start, and a year ahead that promised to be different, better. As though with the flip of a calendar page, we would shake free from the clutches of a turbulent year and move forward like everything was once again ‘normal.’ As though the trauma would astonishingly disappear. Our memories wiped of what had altered every aspect of millions of lives and taken so much. While reading all these hot-take articles and essays, I thought, what a load of shit while seething at the suggestion. LOOK AROUND, I wanted to scream. What a farce to assert a reset was in order simply because we would fall asleep in one year and wake up in another.
The hum of my dad’s oxygen machine reminded me that no reset was to be had when I awoke New Year’s morning.
Better, my ass.
My dad died 18 days later while I was in my stepmother’s hospital room. I had wanted to be there, to have a hand on him when he left us, to feel his soul depart his tired, ravaged body, to comfort him and provide a counteroffer to his fear. I didn’t want him to be alone. But I was in the room next door. On the other side of the wall that separated us, he slipped away while I stood waiting. The nurses liked him to have privacy when they washed and repositioned him each morning, an ounce of dignity he very much deserved after what cancer had done to him. But as we waited for them to finish, he had finally had enough and let go.
In the weeks leading up to his hospitalization and death, his fate remained unspoken between the two of us. His deterioration said what he couldn’t. He and I silently faced the challenges of a sick and failing body, salvaging what we could, frantically nursing the pieces of him that might still have a chance to heal. Each secretly wishing; he for more days, me for mercy. My father’s regrets smouldered, releasing particles of what if’s into the air around us. Lodged in my lungs is a painful permanence of what might have been for him. Oh, how I long to turn back time. To give him more.
The pandemic prevented my brother and the rest of my dad’s family from being with him—a brutal and incomprehensible reality. I drove away from the hospital that day, accompanied only by the sweet smell of death—a stench that still haunts and overcomes me.
Though I knew what was coming and steeled myself, scattered all around are pieces of the person I once was. The impact was simply too great. You can’t steady yourself for something you’ve never known, a loss so immeasurable. I understand that now. It’s not possible to forecast grief and your response to it. My dad is gone, and no truth has ever hit as hard.
When I walked back into the room and saw his face, it was still. I searched his chest for movement, desperate to see it rise. Please breathe, I thought. But he didn’t. My dad lay lifeless before me, and in an instant, everything had changed. There is not a single moment in my life when I have ever felt more alone.
He was my dad.
After losing him, I sunk to the very bottom and came to rest in unrecognizable darkness. I’ve spent the weeks and now months that have passed just trying to make it through each day. I’ve absolved myself from guilt. Free from expectations, I allow myself the right to decide moment-to-moment what it is that I need. I’ve muttered, I don’t give a shit more times than I can count before doing something I would have once considered questionable. Whatever. Grappling with loss and sorrow amid a global pandemic and the emergence of jaw-dropping stupidity is…difficult. At best. Sometimes it feels like the only thing that makes a damn bit of sense is wine and candy for breakfast.
Down here keeping me company is Ted Lasso and the gang, some hilarious girls from Derry, the brilliant Michaela Coel, the Marvel Universe, and the people who love me. I am not alone. In fact, I have never felt less alone. There is something to be said for being shattered and having to piece yourself back together. It presents a unique opportunity to rebuild, re-emerge with fresh eyes and a perspective shared only by those who dared to sit with their pain. I’m sitting.
Today, the surface has unexpectedly come into view. It’s hazy, but there. And for the first time in a long while, I feel less tethered to what holds me here and more inclined to look up. Perhaps that’s why I decided to write this. Maybe this is me reaching for the surface. I don’t know. I just know that today…today I can look at photos of my dad and smile at the sight of his.
Truthfully, I don’t know much anymore. But what I do know is that mine is a brutally beautiful life.
And I am still alive.
37 Comments
Mark Lanesbury
Dear lady, there isn’t a thing I can say to allay that pain of grief, the loss of someone so, so close. But one. I’ve felt the journey to where your dad now is, and it is the most heavenly, peaceful and loving thing you can imagine. No more pain, no more heartache, no more earthly suffering. He has reached a beauty beyond words…and in fact will be pouring that love back to you to give you strength on your current journey. Hold that and know in your heart that yes, it is painful, but it is also the making of that compassion, love and empathy, just like your dad. He will want you to know that love that he found too ❤️ 🙏🏽 🦋
tanya
Thank you, Mark. Wherever my dad is now, I know that he is okay and watching over me, and that brings me immense comfort. I will carry him with me as I move forward in this crazy life of mine. ❤️
Mark Lanesbury
Yes it does seem crazy at times, I hear you well dear lady. There are days when I shake my head and wonder. But, may we at least have doses of sunshine and love to balance our journey 😀 ❤️ 🙏🏽 🦋
Miriam
I don’t know much either Tanya. None of us know much about this life we’re living and these nonsensical times we’re in, and when someone we love is taken from us, especially in your circumstances. it seems even more senseless. I’m so sorry for your loss and I can only imagine the depth of grief in your heart. I remember the sadness and feeling of loss when my mum left this world but I’m thankful I was able to hold her hand as she took her last breath. But whether you were there with your dad or not, he would have felt you, known your love. He would want you to have peace now and be happy and surrounded by beauty, as he no doubt is. I’m so glad you’re not alone and that you’re finding the surface again. Writing this must have been cathartic. I’m sending you so much love from afar and wishing you peace in your heart as you move forward. Big hugs dear friend. xx 🙏❤️
tanya
Aww, Miriam. You know how I feel all too well. I am so sorry about your mom. What a blessing that you were there with her in the end. I wish I had been, I should have been, but perhaps it happened the way it was intended. I can’t argue with fate or the alignment of the stars, can I? It sure did feel good to write about it and express how I have been feeling. It’s been a long and devastating year, and it’s been hard. I know that I am not alone in my pain. Countless others around the globe are also sunk by loss. If my words offer comfort of any kind, then I am even happier that I shared them. It also brings me a tiny step closer to feeling alive once again. One moment and day at a time. That’s all I can do.
So, Australia is on my radar, and once the world is free from this pandemic, I am heading in your direction. Hopefully 2022. I will, of course, keep you posted. We have wine to drink and camping to do. 🤗Thank you for your beautiful words and support, Miriam. I treasure both more than you know. I hope you have a lovely and happy week, my friend. ❤️
Miriam
Yes my friend, one moment and one day at a time indeed. That’s all any of us can do. I can’t wait for the day when we meet, share that glass of wine and camp under the stars together. It will happen. In the meantime look after yourself and savour the beauty and miracle of being alive. Even amid the craziness of this world, life is precious. xx ❤️
tanya
Thank you, Miriam; I am doing precisely that. You take good care, too. This life is bananas, but it certainly is precious, and there is so much to enjoy and savour. xo ❤️
desertcurmudgeon
You are a literary alchemist, Tanya. Rare is the person who can take that much pain and turn it into something beautiful and inspiring.
tanya
No compliment I receive will ever match this one, Paul. It means everything. Thank you, my friend. ❤️
Glenda
Best pictures I’ve seen of you and of Fred. He had such a great smile. Blessed to have known him
tanya
Thanks, Glenda. ❤️ They are pretty great, and I am thankful I have so many of them. He sure did have a great smile.
Writing to Freedom
Dear Tanya. I’m so sorry for your loss. Yes it’s been a shit year, especially for you and others who have lost loved ones. I hope your powerful words may help comfort you and others. I’m grateful to know you and honor your process. Big HNS. 🙏♥️
tanya
Thank you, Brad. I am grateful to have you in my life and be a part of your beautiful and colourful world. Your words have moved me and brought hope when I have needed it. Thank you for sharing them with all of us. Take good care. Big HNS right back. ☺️❤️
Writing to Freedom
Thank you. I’m touched that my words and presence can help you. I appreciate you Tanya. 😍
floweringink
I woke up this morning thinking of you, checked my phone and there was a message from you, realised I hadn’t checked your blog in ages, logged in, read this sorrowful and beautiful and hopeful post, remembered how much your words and your heart and your spirit fill the whole world with a goodness and honesty that I have rarely seen in this life. I love you, my friend.
tanya
Sorry that it has been so long since we spoke but know I think of you often and always hope you are doing well. Thank you for the beautiful response to my post. I have always taken what you say about my writing to heart and use your thoughts and encouragement as fuel to keep writing. I’ve weighed quitting more times than I care to think about. So thank you for that, Susan – your words have helped me more than you know. I love you, too, my friend. Hope today is a good day.❤️
D. Wallace Peach
Aaah, Tanya, this made me sad. I’m so sorry about the loss of your dad and how the pandemic prevented you from being there to comfort him. I don’t think anyone really understands our individual losses and how they impact us. Loss is molded by our relationship and steeped in personal history that even we can’t always lay a finger on. For me, our transience is the source of poignancy in life, and pain is the foundation of compassion. Every one of us will pass into the unknowable, and we can only guess what awaits us on the other side. My heart is with you, and I’m glad you can smile. <3
tanya
You are so wise, Diana. This experience has been devastating beyond comprehension, but I have learned many things about myself and those around me. I am changed and know that I will go forward with more curiousity and intent. There is a whole world out there I wish to discover and a life I hope to live. Without this loss and the pain I’ve had to endure, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. And I kinda like this person. So, though I am sad, I have to be grateful for the experience and all that it has taught me and carry on and live until I can’t anymore. Life is a wild and painful ride but an extraordinary one, as well. Thank you for always being such an amazing human. You are a blessing. ❤️
D. Wallace Peach
Thanks for the kind comment, Tanya. Wishing you a lovely Friday and weekend filled with joy and peace. <3 <3
candidkay
Oh, I am so sorry. I know how lost I felt when my dad passed. I do believe he chose his time. My dad also passed less than a minute after I left his hospital room. I think it’s easier for them to go when we’re not in the room. And I get the whole Ted Lasso, Derry Girls, etc. thing. I wanted to cocoon–the world felt too loud and big. Sending you much love and a huge hug . . . look for signs. He’ll eventually send you a sign–and you’ll know it’s him.
tanya
Thank you, Kristine. He let go when he needed to and, as you said, I know he probably wanted to spare me from that moment. I’m sorry you went through this experience as well. I look for him often and happened to find him in the most random of places last weekend. It comforted me and made me smile. My circuits are starting to fire back up again, and the weight is beginning to lift from my shoulders, and for that, I am grateful. He would want me to move forward and live. So that’s what I am doing. Thanks for the comment and for your understanding. You know how I feel about you, and I am glad you are here. Lots of love and a big hug right back. ❤️
waywardsparkles
Tanya,
After Mom died (five years ago in November), someone told me that my life would be split into what happened before Mom died and after Mom died. I thought that was so strange to think in those terms, but several years on, and I still do. I changed. Life changed in such unimaginable ways. I think of her on a daily basis. I’ve learned more about her since she’s been gone, not in the sense that others have told me things about her. That’s not been the case at all. It’s more of what her presence meant that I took for granted when she was here, and what my present is like in her absence. She was the holder of the memories of her family and my childhood. She knew everything about cooking and keeping house. She knew more about the Bible and God than I’ll ever know. She did more than I ever thought she did, never missing an anniversary or birthday of family members. Yet Mom was always such a bitch. Now I know why. I respect her beyond measure and I take back every hateful, misinformed thought I ever had about her. By no means am I idolizing her, I just understand so much more now in a way I couldn’t have when she was alive.
ANYWAY,
This wasn’t supposed to be about Mom. I wanted to give you something…but your something is going to be different than mine. I’m so sorry about your dad. I wish I could wave a magic wand for both of us, for all who have lost a loved one, just so we could have another moment, another long, long moment! I’ll be thinking about you in the weeks ahead and sending you love and hugs on a daily basis. I always love when Mom visits me in my dreams. It doesn’t happen often, but I always wake up feeling so loved when she does. I hope your Dad does the same for you, my friend! Mona
tanya
Oh, Mona, thank you so much for this thoughtful and beautiful comment. I am so sorry you lost your mom. How amazing that you have learned so much in the time since and perhaps understand her better than you did while she was here—what a gift for you. I can’t tell you how much I relate to this comment and what it meant to read your words. To say that things have been complicated since my dad’s passing would be an understatement, but with the support of my friends and family, I am holding onto the things that matter and also understand my dad better. It has saved me and brought comfort to an extraordinarily sad and devastating situation. For that, I am so grateful. And like in the movies, my dad and I shared a beautiful moment in his final hours, and it is all mine – nobody can ever take it from me, and I will carry it with me for the rest of my days. I know without question that I was loved, and he knew he was, too. What more can we ask for? I hope my dad will visit me, Mona. I look for him, but I know one day, when I least expect it, he will stop by. What a great day or dream that will be. It is so good to hear from you, my friend, it’s been a long while. I wish you a wonderful day and sweet dreams in the days ahead. Sending a massive hug and loads of love. xo
Arionis
Tanya, hadn’t seen you post in a bit and came here to see what’s up. I’m horrified to see the comment I left months ago is not here! You must think I’m an uncaring POS. Let me say again that I am so sorry for your loss. I’m happy to see you again. I’m not sorry that you are still alive! Don’t be a stranger. Come by my blog when you get a chance. I’ve even added a chat room so we peeps can talk in real time. Hope you are doing well my friend!
tanya
Ari! Oh my goodness, it is so good to hear from you! I didn’t even know you attempted to leave a comment, but even if you didn’t, I would NEVER think that about you! My good Sir, you are one of the good ones, and I adore you. Thank you for checking in and leaving a comment for me. I appreciate it so much, and it’s just so good to hear from you! As you can imagine, I’ve struggled at times to keep my shit together since I lost my dad, but I am doing okay and am very much alive! I will pop over to your blog and see what you have been up to. And super cool about the chat room. Ari, I hope life has been good to you and that you are happy! I will chat with you soon. Much love and hugs, my friend. xo
Annika Perry
My dear friend, Tanya, my heart goes out to you. You raw writing and agony of loss has me in tears for you. It is unfathomable but a reality how crazy the world has become as loved ones die alone. As you were not allowed to be by your father’s side. As if your heart and body weren’t already breaking from seeing your father so desperately ill. I can imagine the last year has been one of existing, surviving for you. Yet, how wonderful that you can look up, to see, to feel ‘brutally beautiful life’ again. May you be able to rise up a bit further each day, accept the darkest ones. The love between your father and you was great and special I understand, it is the dichotomy yet duality that love comes such deep and utter grief. Sending hugs & love, Annika xx
tanya
Aww, Annika. When I read your comment, it made me smile so big and maybe cry just a little. Thank you for these words; they mean alot to me. To say that the last year has been hard would be a gross understatement, but I am finding my way back and am feeling sparks of life once again. There has been so much suffering all around the world, and it is difficult to believe in anything, but we must always hold onto hope; otherwise, we are left with nothing. I believe better days are ahead. You are a beautiful person, and I can’t thank you enough for taking the time to write this to me. I hope you are enjoying a lovely weekend over on that side of the world, and are treating yourself to something fabulous. Big hug and lots of love to you. ❤️
Kathy
Shattering and piecing ourselves back together. Life can be so hard. Thanks for sharing of yourself here, that we can all take notice that it’s possible to return to a sense of wholeness. xoxo
tanya
Thank you so much, Kathy. I really appreciate you taking the time to read my post and then leave this beautiful comment. It means the world. xo
Blogging_with_Bojana
Oh dear Tanya, a loss so immeasurable it is. I never knew it would hurt this much and it does more than words can say. And to turn grief and loss into sth so painfully beautiful is a rare gift. Use it. Don’t you ever neglect it.
tanya
Thank you for saying that. I promise I won’t. My heart is with you, Bojana. This is a long, painful road, unlike anything you have ever known, but just remember that you are not alone and that there is so much to learn from it. Lots of love, my friend. ❤️
Blogging_with_Bojana
I wallowed in my sorrows and self pity too long. It’s time for some optimism now. Dunno how long it will last, but I desperately need it, regardless. Thanks, hon.
tanya
Aww, I understand. I do my fair share of that. I don’t know what it is, but looking towards the sky day or night gives me hope. The beauty comforts me and makes me realize that there is so much more than just all this sadness and loss. I hope you find your sky, B.
Blogging_with_Bojana
I have to dig it out but I’ll get to it. Promise.
anotetohuguette
It’s been a wee while and I thought I’d drop by for a visit…I somehow missed this beautiful raw post that echoes my thoughts and feelings surrounding my own father’s death in 2018…I spent time with him on the morning of his death and spoke words releasing him from his protective fatherly role. I told him I was strong enough to be without him and he believed me…he passed away peacefully that afternoon and so far, I’m strong enough but miss him and his wise words terribly as our world morphs into a place I don’t recognize anymore.
I hope this note finds you faring well and smiling more…
tanya
Aww, Kim, thank you for sharing that with me. How wonderful that you were there with him and were able to speak those words to him. They no doubt gave him the strength to let go. It’s incredible how many times I have wanted to tell my dad something only to remember that I no longer can. The permanence of his absence still takes my breath away. But I hold onto the moments and the memories and find solace in the joy and love we shared. That’s all I can do. The world has become unrecognizable in so many ways. I hope that you, too, are fairing well and staying healthy and happy. Take good care. ❤️
anotetohuguette
As long as we seek solace in nature we find we can weather the storms…it’s hard to believe that summer is just around the corner when we’ve hardly had spring…life is beautiful and messy, forever changing and we keep on pivoting!