My father passed away suddenly, but not surprisingly, on February 14, 2023. He passed without warning in the literal sense, but I felt he would soon be leaving this world and knew it wasn’t long until he “shuffled off his mortal coil.” I received a call from his brother, but I already knew. Within the days that preceded his passing, I found an old birthday card from his mother, which still had some of his childhood photos in it, and I had this vague sense that he would be leaving soon.
I remember seeing my uncle’s name on Facebook Messenger requesting my phone number, and I knew what those words meant. I had thought about how I might feel when he died for years. We weren’t close, but I grew to appreciate and genuinely love the man, albeit from a distant yet compassionate approach. I had longed for a closer connection to him for most of my life. Still, in the years before his passing, I became very much at peace with my feelings regarding our connection and his inability to fully commit to being a father figure.
I remember it hit harder than I expected, and the emotional wave that followed was somewhat overwhelming. I think when he died, my dream of being a fully-fledged family member on his side of the family died, too, and as a result, I chose to attend his celebration of life ceremony put on by his friends in Vancouver, BC, namely due to the cost and only being able to attend one event. The trip itself was a bit of a challenge since I had just begun working as a temp in an office that seemed genuinely irritated rather than concerned or compassionate about the fact that I had just lost a parent and for the simple fact that I didn’t have the money to fly out to BC.
I often followed my intuition over logic and decided to make it work. I booked a direct flight from Halifax to Vancouver, and immediately after I sat down, the woman sitting next to me asked me if I would be OK with switching seats with her husband, who was across the aisle from me. When I did, I realized I was sitting next to an empty seat for the duration of the flight.
I got off in Vancouver, hopped on the sky train, and went through the city streets looking for my bed for the week, which was the least expensive hostel I could find. It sat atop a very loud bar, and coincidentally, my father’s celebration of life was held on St. Patrick’s Day weekend. And I remember waking up at 3:00 AM to bagpipes being played below me; thank God for earplugs.
My father’s name was Patrick, and he was proud of his Irish heritage, so it just felt right that I was there. I honestly hadn’t slept that well in months. I was offered by a woman from Iceland who was doing a practicum up north to travel to Vancouver Island and stay in a hostel with her there, but by the time I went to book a bed for the night, they were completely sold out, so I decided to stay where I was.
I was incredibly nervous on the day of his celebration of life, but I decided to leave incredibly early to ensure I arrived on time. I had to travel by sky train and bus to get there and ended up missing my stop and having to backtrack about two kilometres. It was the most beautiful weather of the entire trip, and it was such a welcome gift to walk alongside some water and sunshine before meeting his friends. Several bald eagles flew above me, and I could see some of their massive nests. I’ve always had such an affinity for those animals that I felt very at peace with how the day would unfold, and I think it allowed me to trust even more in the process.
I had arrived early and went to walk into the room; I was incredibly nervous and self-conscious, but I walked in confidently and approached this beautiful woman with blonde hair in the corner. I introduced myself, and she told me my father had once dated. To say that I was shocked would be an understatement, but it made me happy to know that he had, however brief it might have been, he had been in love with someone so kind and so beautiful.
There are just some people you meet, and you know immediately that they are among the kindest of souls; I felt comforted by the fact that he dated someone like her. That meant that it said something about who he was as a person and that it helped me cope with my love life at the time and how precious our time, connections, and experiences genuinely are.
I was walking around the room and introducing myself to people here and there, and eventually, someone gave the first speech. I decided immediately to say something because I would only be afforded this opportunity once, and I didn’t want to have any regrets after the event. I spoke briefly, with my voice barely holding it together and my eyes full of tears. I told them all, “that although I did not know my father very well, it was a testament to hear such beautiful words about him and to know so many people loved him so much.”
It was a wonderful day, and I spoke with many of his friends and so many of them could see so much of him in me, and I feel like my presence gave them comfort in knowing that he lived on in some fashion regardless of their beliefs around death and spirituality. During the celebration of life, I took a few photos and left with his ex-girlfriend. We spoke at length about him, and she told me all the nice things that he had told others about me, which I never really heard from him directly, but our drive back to the city gave me more insight into my own life and my connections to men how I could quickly draw parallels between their relationship and the relationship I was experiencing in my own life at the time. I found it profoundly comforting in some strange way.
But I found in the weeks that followed the event I was torn up inside for going to his celebration of life. I kept recounting all the beautiful things I had heard that day. I kept reminding myself that their memories differed strongly from mine because I stood in a room filled with love. I heard all these stories from people I didn’t know. They knew exactly who I was and heard amazing things about me when I had never heard those words. I needed to listen to them the most, and I struggled to reconcile my ambivalent feelings around my father and his passing. I struggled with knowing that even though he felt all those things about me, he was never able to verbalize it.
One of the last messages I ever sent my father was about how much I appreciated him and how he flew across the country to see me when I was eight. While he was in town, we spent the day together, and we were just about to watch the movie, Toy Story. We were standing inside a movie theatre when we heard a question asked over the radio station playing in the lobby.
The question was, “Who played “Hamm in the movie Toy Story?” And my father said, “It’s John Ratzenburg,” under his breath. I remember urging him to call into the radio station, which he did, winning the prize and giving it to me. It was a great day and a memory that I have always cherished. The reality was I felt like my father, and I shared a lot of similar characteristics and ways of thinking about things and appreciated certain forms of art in the same ways that other family members might not have shown much interest in. I love the TV show Jeopardy! which my father applied for many years ago. He never made it onto the show, but we always shared that same love for random knowledge.
I was left mourning all the missed opportunities around spending time with one another. I don’t think he realized how much I had longed to have him in my life and how much I appreciated those brief interactions with him. We often long for elusive things and connections that seem tenuous at best and do not fully appreciate the people there for us 100% of the time. The ones that make us feel truly loved and do so much without reservation.
My mom is a giver in every sense of the word. She goes out of her way perpetually to help others and fully lives life from a heart-centred approach. I often think about how indicative it is within the feminine experience and how often women play the most unappreciated roles. It’s one thing to give a significant gift that comes at the perfect time and helps alleviate stress. It’s another thing to consistently be there 100% of the time, helping pick someone up when they fall, and being that solid rock and foundation allowing a person to flourish when, under other circumstances, they might have faltered and then been swept away by unruly events and turbulent emotions.
It’s something to be recognized because she has been a gift from God, and I am only the person I am because of how she helped mold me. And the reality is that had my father played a more prominent role in my life; I likely would be less of who I am now, possibly in worse ways. Not because his presence was overtly detrimental, but I’m not sure if he knew how to be a father fully, and those moments that hurt the most would have been amplified if he had been in my life more than he was. I am so grateful for both my parents, and I’m so thankful that I had such a strong, confident, capable, and loving powerhouse of a mother who helped pave the way for me in so many ways while also ensuring that I continually stay humble and always look for opportunities to be in service.
family
Chapter Nineteen: Healing Wounds – “Half Adopted”
I often conceal my weirdness, but any semblance of normalcy disappears when I listen to the internal dialogue inside my head. My inner monologue chatters incessantly most of the time, and it’s something that I just assumed everyone did. I realized recently that my childhood loneliness made me fast friends with my inner self. I don’t know how unusual this is. Still, I frequently speak to myself at length within my mind, often trying to figure out how to solve issues without openly discussing everything with others.
This approach is helpful, and I can speak about issues at length because that’s how I work through it. As someone who can’t afford therapy and often must figure things out independently, it has been my way of dealing with everything. As a child, I sometimes felt like I wasn’t allowed to express my feelings about issues, and I think it was a coping mechanism I learned very early on. I could remain entirely within my little world, and I developed daydreams and internal conversations with myself to survive.
My mom did her best and insulated us to the best of her ability. She raised my brother and me independently; he and I often marvel at how she did it. I have zero doubt being a parent is one of the most challenging jobs in the world, but I’m also positive that my mother endured immense trauma in her early years, some of which she had inherited from her parents, and I know life wasn’t easy for her. I can’t even begin to imagine how she dealt with her many life hardships and the experiences her mother and father went through in their own lives.
The world is becoming a gentler place. From a historical context, it’s hard to fathom how different we experience things now versus centuries ago, but we are progressing to a gentler way of being. There are exceptions to every rule, but even the simple fact that public executions are no longer something you take the wife and kids to or the fact that we don’t witness gladiators fighting to the death in colosseums anymore is an indication of that reality. There is much less brutality and much more self-reflection now than there has ever been.
Do I think my maternal grandfather, fresh out of serving in World War II, would have focused a lot of time and attention on being bullied, and what kind of ramifications hurt feelings had on those he interacted with? Hell no. I’m sure he sees things differently today and maybe sees value on the other side, but I also know he wasn’t afforded the time. The ability to navigate those emotions when he dealt with the trauma of watching his best friends die in a war and had to go on living after that and support a family of 5 children.
Wars continue to rage when so many of us wish they didn’t. I feel that, on average, people are afforded the ability to be gentler with one another now more than ever before, and use the examples of the rise of veganism, the recognition of the Black Lives Matter movement, Trans visibility, and the legalization of gay marriage to help make my case that we are heading in the right direction. At the very least, we are beginning to allow people to live their lives more openly without fear of repercussions.
I am so grateful that I live during a time when immense generational trauma and family karma seem to be more on the forefront and that we as a planet have become more self-aware of where our shortfalls stem from. Even though recognizing that healing needs to take place, taking steps toward emotional healing is often extremely difficult. There are so many systems in place and unspoken rules within family dynamics that make it difficult to transcend all the learned behaviours and coping mechanisms we have developed and internalized as we have made our way through life.
Some of my feelings about otherness stem from only interacting with my mom’s side of the family. My father couldn’t be a father and struggled with his demons. He just wasn’t there in the way either of us probably wanted. He wasn’t a paternal figure in my life, and I have immense empathy for what he’s been through. I’ve never considered him my “actual” father since I never felt I could rely on him.
I remember I travelled across the country to see my grandmother when she was close to the end of her life and began making her journey home. I remember sitting in her hospital room surrounded by her loved ones, and I recognized so much of myself in these people I didn’t know. It was so interesting because I always felt half adopted growing up, just because I didn’t see that aspect of who I was, and there was some solace in those moments. I have consistently recognized specific quirks, personality traits, and interests I didn’t realize were genetic. I felt privileged to see aspects of myself reflected in other people who didn’t know anything about me other than who my grandmother was.
My father is Irish Catholic, and I feel like I inherited some of the traits associated with that culture without ever interacting with it. My father struggled through life, and I became keenly aware of nature versus nurture when I met his family members. I also wondered about what kind of inherited karma we gain through our genetics and how impactful DNA is on a subtle level.
My love of films and ability to thrive at trivia games has been inherited from that side of the family. I recognized some genetic predispositions, too, and wondered about the notion of “Catholic guilt.” When I was 20 years old, I visited a psychic and was told that I had inherited Catholic guilt even though I hadn’t been raised Catholic. I passed it off like it was silly to say until I interacted with these people who were effectively strangers. I was not raised with religion and spent little time in the Catholic Church. While spending time with these people who were genetically my relatives but knew nothing of my life, I realized they had similar ways of expressing themselves and had similar creative leanings. It just made me wonder how deeply connected we are on a genetic level.
Nobody is perfect in life—thank fuck! It would be super annoying if that were the case. Still, I think there’s something to be said about the idea of recognizing how issues have been inherited and how much things often get swept under the rug, or we feel the need to continue specific cycles or patterns because somewhere along the line, we were told it was better to continue doing what has always been done rather than charting a new course because it seems too difficult to change.
As I’ve grown older, I feel more at ease with who I am and see the value I offer. I realize I possess many inherited beliefs that I would like to question a bit more. In terms of being told what is true versus what feels right to me, my hope is that I continue to develop as a human that I continually strive to heal in every way I can.
I think the more we work through our traumas, shed light on the darkness and help others through their processes, the more we can free ourselves of those layers, the weight we’ve picked up along the way, and all those things we were told to carry that were not ours to carry in the first place.
So that we can fully embrace the “weird” and not worry so much about how it’s interpreted and how we are perceived because, ultimately, it’s so much more affirming to be who you are and do that rather than try to appease people that aren’t even worth it in the first place. Life is way too short to focus on trivialities like that, and I think a lot of it stems from just working through the things we inherited and sifting through what works for us and what doesn’t anymore.
Most of the things we’re told to continue doing are done in the guise of, “Well, that’s what works,” but there are a lot of institutions in this world, and many things don’t work that well. Sometimes, it’s good to have a fresh perspective on everything and question the nature of specific institutions. I think it’s essential for growth on an individual level and for society to continually challenge frameworks and adjust the lens through which we see our realities because that is where the magic happens and how progress and innovation are made. We don’t evolve as individuals without questioning our current existence and shared history, which is part of why knowing about our past in a social sense is essential, but also knowing where we came from helps us understand who we are and where we are going.
daniellemacquarrie 