The Dead Dad Diaries

Lagan towpath, January 2010. © Barak Zimmerman

I just think it’s important to say that, lest anyone imagine that life after bereavement is a series of jolly japes interspersed with misty-eyed, rose-tinted moments.

When I sit down to write this blog, seeing the lighter side of grief and loss tends to come easily. That’s partly because I think of you, the reader, and my natural instinct is to entertain. Entertain: from the Old French “entretenir,” to keep up, maintain, support, hold together. When I’m writing, I’m holding it together.

I come from a family of hold-it-together-ers. When asked how we are, we answer “fine.” We look forward, accentuate the positive, smile. This is generally a good thing: better than coming from a family of whingers, anyway. Sometimes the façade helps shape the reality. But I also think it’s important to be able to fall apart every now and again.

There are only a couple of people in my life in whose company I feel I can safely fall apart. I don’t think I want that to change. But sometimes I’d like to find a convenient halfway point between perfectly together and total mess, a point that would let people know how unpredictable and confusing this grieving thing is and what a bloody long time it takes. Like US immigration. My visa to “business has usual” has not come through yet though it is pending.

There’s another reason why it’s been easy to bring humour to this blog. The act of sitting down to post requires a fundamentally positive attitude. It rests on the belief that communication is possible and has a point. Even when it is about the very real existence of despair, writing is an act of hope.