We have a fourth birthday coming up in this house. Every time one of my kids turns four I think, this is how old I was when he died. I look at their sweet little faces and wonder how my mom told me. I wonder how afraid she must have been. I wonder whether my siblings were thankful for me or mad at me for just being another burden. Mostly though, when one of my kids turns four, I thank God that their dad is still around and I pray with everything I have that they get to keep him for a long, long time.
I used to think of how my father’s death affected all my siblings. I used to wonder what it was like to be 24 and watch your father suffer when you yourself were just trying to begin your own newly-healthy adult life full of promise and the joy of new love. How conflicted must she have been-caught between celebration and fear? I used to wonder what it was like to be the “The” boy and have to go away to school and leave your mom to care for your sick dad. Did it make him worry? Did college lose it’s luster or become even more important as a safe haven for a young man about to lose his dad? Did any of the friends at school even know what was happening or was it easier to pretend for awhile? I wonder what it was like for the thirteen year old who wasn’t treated like the baby because there was a four year old? Did she feel lost in the shuffle? How about the fifteen year old? It’s hard enough being 13 and 15 and navigating junior high without watching your father die in his bedroom every day after school. What about the 20 year old? You’re supposed to be silly and still a little immature at 20. You’re not supposed to have to take a four year old to your college class with you. But maybe that was a good distraction. I know my four year old was a good distraction when I lost someone.
Perspective. I have always been fascinated by my siblings’ perspectives surrounding my father’s death, perhaps because I never really had one of my own. It’s funny really, I was so young when it happened that I always figured it didn’t have a huge impact. I have always thought I didn’t really grow up without. My siblings, they lost something. I never felt the same about myself.
Until now. Until I watch my kids turn four every couple years. Until I watch four years of bonding with their dad. Until I imagine the horror of having to tell them their dad is gone. Until I can’t imagine how they could go on living if anything happened to their dad.
I never thought about what it was like to lose my dad until I married a man and he became one and I see how important a dad can be even when-especially when-you’re four.
** This post was inspired by the book The Kids are Alright, by Diana and Liz Welch with Dan and Amanda Welch. This book is a fascinating memoir of perspective written by four siblings who lost their dad and their mom. I received a copy of this book as a member of the From Left to Write Book Club. You can read other inspired posts here.
The physical toll was not that great when I left and not tremedously evident through the various breaks that year. It wasnt until the end of the school year that I even heard the word "terminal". And that was about two hours after arriving home and being dragged to pick up new medication. I often wonder if I was given a bonus year through blissfull ignorance or deprived of working through the process naturally.
Couldnt you have at least found a picture of our actual family?
I really relate to this because my father died when I was 8, and my daughter is that age this year. It's been 30 years, and my perspective of my life at that age and what happened that year seems altered now that my daughter is that very age. I realize how young and impressionable I really was even though I believed myself to be strong and mature. Despite the fact I lived through this, I cannot imagine how it would affect my own children.
Wow, such a thoughtful post. I think about what you have said in the context of my mother. Her father died when she was just 30, but she was the oldest of 6 kids and her youngest sibling was only a teenager. It was such a different blow for each of them.
Cristie, my boys were 8 and 12 when their father died. I think one of the most healing therapies for my son has been having children of his own. The compulsion to make their world safe and protect them almost has a remedial effect in that it seems like you're doing it for yourself!
Thanks for the great post.
What a beautiful post, Cristie. Perspective sometimes comes later, right? When you're 4, you are just fully present in your own world.
I love seeing this exchange between you and Diana Welch – you have a lot in common in your unique perspectives.
Dear Christie,
Wow. Your post is beautiful and also so sad! Of course, I was four when my dad died, too. It's strange for me sometimes, because my siblings all have such strong memories of a man whom I remember only vaguely. I almost feel guilty that I don't remember more of him! They all recall sch a strong man, who was so funny and goofy and smart … I just remember how his soft sweater felt and smelled, and how his cheek felt against mine… It's as though I missed out on knowing one of the coolest people on the planet.
Your post really hit home with me – and not only because one of the most important things that came of writing The Kids are All Right with my siblings was that I learned the way they each felt when our father died, when our mother died, and then learned that they too felt so alone when we were all flung out into the world as orphans. It made me realize just how hard it was for each of us – and made me feel so incredibly proud to call these three brave and loving people my siblings.
But your post also strikes a nerve because I too have a child – Harvey just turned one! And as my love for him grows, the pain of losing my parents definitely takes on a new heaviness.
On the lighter side of things, I so love seeing your siblings' comments up here — clearly, though I would never wish a parent's death on ANYONE, the upside is that you gain such important allies in life.
thanks so much for reading, and writing!
Diana Welch
The 13 year old is still trying to figure out how she dealt with it, if she ever did. You know her, she never talks about anything:) I'm pretty sure she pushed it so far down inside that it's still coming out to this day.
We were very thankful for you.