Emily P.
Photography by Caroline MacLaren
If you’re reading this, embrace your resilience.
No matter how many times I’ve tried to write this letter, I feel like there’s no all-encompassing way to describe this.
Grief is something that everyone will encounter at some point in their lives. It’s irreversible, and will forever remain open-ended. It completely alters your being, and you don’t have a choice. The person I would be without grief is a stranger to me, as it has stuck by my side for over half of my life.
Grief was first introduced to me at the age of eight when I lost my dad. It happened suddenly; he had a stroke in our home. My dad was adored by everyone around him for his charismatic and joyful personality, and he would do just about anything to make me and my brother happy. He was always the first person on the dance floor and the last one off.
At the time, my response to my dad’s death was similar to how kids get right back up when they fall on their faces. It caused me to grow up fast and shaped my independence. The hard part didn’t really come until I got older, and became capable of understanding the significance of my experience.
Grief resurfaced once again at the end of my sophomore year of high school. My mom was dating an old hometown friend, Tom, for about a year before he was diagnosed with lung cancer. Despite the lingering fear of the unknown that Tom’s cancer brought, our families grew closer. Tom suddenly passed away one year later. He and my mom were supposed to get married that summer, and we had bought a house together for our blended family.
While grief presents itself in many different ways, for me it comes in the form of frustration. Frustration with the world for taking two father figures away from me, when most people my age have never had to even think about the loss of a parent. Frustration with myself for allowing memories with my dad to slip away as I’ve grown up. Frustration that my dad and Tom cannot be physically present for the moments in my life, both big and small. I struggle to answer the question, why me?
Rather than attempting to discuss grief with my family and friends, I’ve always sort of put it in a box. A box that only I have been allowed to touch. As the oldest child, I’ve always set the expectation of myself to put on a brave face and play the role model. I hated the thought of the people I care about worrying about me. Allowing myself to lean on others is something I’m still working on.
At school, I often find myself putting my grief on the backburner. Not having a dad is so normal to me that it’s not something that crosses my mind every single day. Being in a fast-paced environment away from home makes it much easier to simply numb my pain by immersing myself in distraction.
The best thing I’ve done for my mental health has been attending therapy groups. Starting when I was eight, I felt comforted playing games and doing crafts with other kids who had also lost close family members. As I’ve gotten older, the conversations in therapy have gone deeper, but the premise remains the same.
Group therapy has made me feel incredibly understood and has given me an outlet to keep my dad and Tom in my memory. It’s opened my eyes to the fact that there are people who relate to my experiences, even though they may not be in my immediate social circle.
I’ve often been told how strong I am, but sometimes I don’t feel strong. After all, my dad died almost twelve years ago, yet the parts in last week’s Euphoria episode about Rue’s late father admittedly brought me to tears. Hearing music that reminds me of my dad and Tom never fails to send a wave of chills over my body. I dread holidays and other family-oriented events, where their absences become most noticeable.
As someone with 11+ death anniversaries under my belt, I can safely say that grief is not a linear process. Feelings of frustration, isolation, and hopelessness will come up whenever they decide to, and when you’d least expect them to. To this day, I struggle with the fact that I’ll never be able to fully answer the “why me” question.
For anyone grieving a loss, I encourage you to be compassionate with yourself and how you’re feeling, no matter what that may be. Give yourself the credit you deserve for how far you’ve come. Grief does not result in a “happy ending” by any means, but time does heal and everyday life gets easier. Know you are more resilient than you think, and that I am always here for you.
In loving memory of Francesco Pozzuto (May 9, 1967-April 8, 2010) and Thomas Charles Mara (August 19, 1968-June 3, 2017)
Emily P., Villanova University
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