Without a dad, and angry

I was asked by a potential client to describe myself. I wanted to say, "Without a dad." Of course, that's not what I said, but it is what first came to mind.

I lost my dad earlier this year to Parkinson's after a long and heroic battle. I still do not believe it.

I am fortunate to have incredibly supportive family and friends. At the same time, I have been surprised by how many well-intended people can say things that can turn my sadness to anger. A few examples:

"You were lucky to have him until you were 53."

That's true, and I also am lucky I see you only rarely.

"Be grateful he lived to 81."

I am grateful for that and that this conversation will end soon.

"He's in a better place."

He, and we, would prefer that he were here.

"You're feeling better, right?"

Oh, I get it, you want me to take care of you! Nice.

If we are thoughtful, we think about what we will say if someone tells us something personal, such as they are depressed or they are pregnant. But we avoid thinking about what to say about death, well, because we want to avoid death.

So, sometimes we just say the wrong thing. I am sure I have.

Some will say I am simply being sensitive. But if you have the gift of longevity, you too will join this club without choice, and your sensitivities likely will change, too.

Some understand, perhaps too well. They identify with the loss and then proceed to tell you in detail about their loss. It's one thing to empathize. (Always appreciated.) Quite another to bathe in narcissism. (Always repugnant.)

It hasn't been all bad. Most people said things to me that felt right.

"Unfortunately, I understand. I am sorry for your loss."

"I know there is nothing I can say. Just let me know if I can help in any way."

"My thoughts/prayers/heart is with you." (It's fine to say my prayers are with you, but not to tell the person to pray.)

"Your dad was a very special man."

Yes, he was.

I loved my father and he loved me. We told each other that after every visit and after every (almost daily) call.

Yes, I am very lucky to have had the relationship I did. But, please, don't tell me so. The hole in my heart will heal, but it will never go away.

As I write, I can see the anger dripping from some of my words. Understand, though, that I am not really angry at those who have made human mistakes in an attempt to be kind.

I am angry at death. And I miss my dad more than any words can express.