Is it weird to get over the death of a loved one so quickly? [long story.]
Is it weird to get over the death of a loved one so quickly? [long story.]
My dad passed away in 2018 due to cardiac arrest. They said he was feeling better and more energetic, and he was supposed to undergo surgery in the morning, but he suddenly passed away later that night.
It had been about two weeks since I last saw him (kids weren’t allowed in the hospital). When I first heard he passed, I didn’t feel an inkling of sadness. I stayed up in my room with my phone, which wasn’t unusual. I think I was reading a Wattpad story at the time. (I wasn’t at home—I was at my dad's little brother's in-laws' house.) It’s not that he was a terrible dad or that I didn’t love him. I was actually a certified daddy’s girl. He would wake up early to cook a proper meal, comb my hair, cut my nails, pick me up and drop me off at school, give me what I wanted, and bond with me over action movies. Whenever I fought with my mom, he was always on my side—except when he thought I was being too much. He pretty much did all the housework: cooking, cleaning, and laundry (by hand). I don’t know what his job was; I remember him mining for treasure or something. I’m pretty sure he didn’t work for a company, maybe it was illegal mining. I remember he used to take me to places with huge dug-up holes, where a bunch of men talked about gold and poisonous water or air. I don’t know where he got the money. Anyway, I guess he was kind of a househusband. My mom would sometimes help with cooking, but only at night. I think my mom might have been depressed at the time, staying cooped up at home watching TV or on her phon not sure.
Back to the main topic—so you know that stupid question parents ask: "If Mommy or Daddy separated, who would you choose to go with?” I’d always say I choose my dad, even though we weren’t blood-related. But back then, I never thought about blood relations. also, between my mom and dad, I was more scared of my dad because he was always calm. My mom, however, had a short fuse, and we’d often have fights. I got used to her temper, and we weren’t really on good terms.
My dad's friend (who worked with him) was a family friend. If my dad couldn’t pick me up, he would. At events or family outings, he was always there, even on ordinary days. His daughter, who was much older than me, would sometimes babysit me. On New Year’s Eve in 2015, he passed away in a motorcycle accident after colliding with another drunk driver while on his way home with his daughter. That night, another family friend broke the news to us, and I remember bawling my eyes out. (Looking back, I don’t understand why I cried so hard. My only memory of him was a time he made me uncomfortable during a family swimming outing—I’m pretty sure it was my first time meeting him.) At his wake, I didn’t cry and refused to look at him in the coffin, and I left after an hour. I wasn’t there for the burial.
Now back to my dad. At his wake, I didn’t feel anything emotional. Seeing him in the coffin, I felt nothing again. I just stayed on my phone watching *Beyond the Boundary* on YouTube.
At the burial, when I watched the coffin slowly lower into the ground, that was when I finally shed a few tears—but it only lasted a minute.
I always thought it was strange that I felt so much emotion when my dad’s friend passed, but I couldn’t do the same for my dad. I moved on within minutes. The last time I visited his grave was in 2019, and even now, my mom still thinks I’m depressed over his death. But over the years, I haven’t missed him at all.
[“Even though we weren’t blood-related”: My mom and dad aren’t actually my biological parents—they are my aunt and uncle. My bio mom, whom I call Mama, is my mom’s younger sister. She was 17 or 18 when she had me. The guy who got her pregnant said he’d take responsibility, but she ran away and went with my mom and dad, who were moving to another region of the country. They took my bio mom in, and after she gave birth, she resumed college with their support. She was mostly away while my mom and dad raised me. She came home for special occasions or college breaks. Even after graduating and getting a decent job, I still lived with my mom and dad, though she began supporting me financially.]
