Life and Father’s Day without my Dad by Ashley Greenway

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The idea of paradox is not a radical one for most people. “Every rose has its thorns” we like to say, implicitly accepting that the good and the bad very often exist together, inextricably connected. But when we are faced with this concept in our personal lives, forced to look it in the eyes and wrestle with what it really means, we often struggle to make sense of it. Suicide loss is one such experience. 

I lost my dad to suicide on March 14, 2017. My family and I knew that he had been struggling with his emotional and mental health, but it honestly never crossed our minds that he would take his own life. Although I was always very open and honest about his death being a suicide, I could not face the reality of his death for months. I ran from my grief and all the conflicting emotions I was feeling.

Father’s Day arrived just three months later, and I was adamant that I did not want to even acknowledge the day. I am a very sentimental person, a trait I inherited from my dad – every milestone and celebration is laden with meaning. To celebrate Father’s Day without my dad meant accepting that he was gone, something I was nowhere near ready to do at that point. For a long time after his passing, I used the word “father” when I talked about him. Somehow, “dad” was too personal, too familiar. It made it all too real that I was talking about my dad. The more formal term allowed me to put some distance between myself and the reality of what had happened.

That denial was closely tied up with feelings of guilt, another common experience for suicide loss survivors. Guilt comes up in so many ways, each more insidious and destructive than the last. Mine manifested as seemingly innocuous questions at first. Why didn’t I talk to my dad more often? Why hadn’t I seen the warning signs? After all, I had been interning as a therapist at that time – how could I have missed my dad’s struggle with suicidal thoughts while I was helping total strangers overcome theirs? 

Pretty soon, those questions evolved into blame as I desperately sought someone, anyone, to hold responsible for the suicide. The most obvious choice, my dad, was gone. As part of my frantic grasping for some modicum of control in my now-shattered life, I turned the blame on myself. If I had just been a better daughter, if I had just been more attentive to my dad, if I had just been more sympathetic… maybe I could have saved him. I felt guilty celebrating Father’s Day because I had taken on a burden of responsibility that was never meant for me. It took me over a year to fully let go of this, though it still likes to rear its ugly head from time to time.

As the holiday approached, I was also struggling with feelings of anger and abandonment. The anger was perhaps the strongest, because it was a shell that protected me from having to face the other emotions that I couldn’t even name at that point and certainly wasn’t ready to deal with. I was still searching for an answer to why my dad had taken his own life, a question that I wouldn’t learn to relinquish until much later. I felt that my dad had abandoned our family, which just made it harder to want to celebrate Father’s Day. That sense of abandonment created more guilt as I tried to rectify my anger at my dad, my grief over his death, and my sympathy for how much he had been suffering. 

Learning to wrestle with those conflicting feelings and allowing them to exist together was perhaps one of the most difficult experiences in the wake of my dad’s suicide. I have always been a very black and white person; I prefer when the world fits into very distinct patterns of good and bad. But suicide loss, and all the emotions and experiences that come with it, don’t settle under those labels very well. Like the rose with its thorns, guilt and anger and grief and love all exist together, interconnected and impossible to pull apart.

Subsequent Father’s Days have been a bit easier, though the day is never without some measure of conflicting feelings and usually a few tears. My brother and I eventually settled on our own way to remember our dad on Father’s Day, his birthday, and any other time we think of him. We’ve learned how to comfort each other with funny stories about Dad, how to make each other laugh as we recall some of his quirks or habits, and how to deal with the tears when they come. And we find little ways to feel close to our dad on those special days and the days in between – listening to the classic rock he loved, telling the “dad jokes” he was known for, quoting his favorite movies, and trying to replicate some of his best recipes.

This year, Father’s Day will be different again. In addition to my grandfather, I also have a new stepdad to celebrate. My stepdad has been one of the biggest, most unexpected blessings of my life, and I am so excited to celebrate with him with year. But while I look forward to this, I can also grieve the fact that there is a place for him in my life, an emptiness left by my dad’s death. 

For several years of my childhood, my family would go camping and fishing in the Sequoia National Forest during the summer. My dad would wake us kids up very early in the morning to go fishing, when it was still dark out and everything was quiet. I didn’t even realize it until recently, but I have my dad to thank for my love and appreciation of nature, something he taught me by example from the time I was very young.

Last summer, my family returned to the forest to go fishing again, this time with my stepdad. It felt wrong at first to share this special place with someone else, almost like I was moving on and leaving my dad behind or replacing him. Perhaps a self-fulfilling prophecy, everything seemed to go wrong, too. I snapped my line three times, got it tangled on countless rocks and pieces of debris in the steam, and never once even saw a fish. Frustrated, I gave up for the day. As I was hiking back upstream, I came across my stepdad. He handed me his fishing pole and had me cast into the stream. Within seconds, I caught a fish, a beautiful rainbow trout. It seems like such a small thing, but in that moment, I suddenly felt the guilt I had been clinging to slip away. It was almost as if my dad was telling me that it was okay to continue on with my life.

I think of that story as a metaphor to represent my experience of adjusting to Father’s Day – and life in general – without my dad. I’m still learning how to balance the paradoxes that surround my dad’s suicide. For me, it means feeling sympathy for how depressed and hurt he was in the weeks and months leading up to his suicide, but also allowing myself to feel my own anger and hurt when those emotions come up. It means acknowledging his faults – he was human, after all – but also treasuring the countless wonderful memories I have of him. It means coming to terms with the fact that he died by suicide, but not letting his final moments crowd out how he lived and loved while he was alive. I cannot change how he died, but I can make sure that I honor his memory as I go forward. 


19 Responses

  1. Jessica Fairfield
    | Reply

    Very touching story. Thank you for sharing. 💞

  2. Cathy
    | Reply

    Thank you for this, my husband committed suicide in 2016. Not many people talk about the struggles as a survivor.

    • Jan Bassier
      | Reply

      Cathy – there are many people struggling as survivors of a loss to suicide. Please search for a support group near you, and keep reading these stories. We lost our son to suicide in 2001, at age 18. I have found talking with others who have a similar loss to be a great help in lifting the weight that death by suicide can bring.
      I’m sorry for your losses, every one.

    • Renée
      | Reply

      Beautiful, Ashley. I miss your dad too…and this was such a beautiful Father’s Day tribute to him. He truly would be proud. ❤️

  3. Lisa Dickinson
    | Reply

    I lost my dad to suicide June 3, 2018; the weekend before Fathers Day. Everything you feel mirrors my own feelings. I still grasp with guilt since he was living with me. My brothers entrusted me to take care of my parents and I felt like I let them down. I am getting a little bit better all the time but it still stings.

    • Katie
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      Lisa, I also lost my dad to suicide just before Father’s Day–three weeks ago. I’m living in a different country and intended to call him.

  4. Jocelyn
    | Reply

    Thank you for this beautiful and well-written post. My son died a little over a year ago. This gives me hope that someday I’ll be able to handle the many emotional paradoxes that come with surviving a loved one’s suicide.

  5. Darlene Thompson
    | Reply

    Our son took his life on March 4, 2019. He suffered from manic depressive disease, but we didn’t know that…he had not sought help until just a few months before his death, and he had to leave a message when he called the agency that could have helped him. The guilt is definitely there. I feel I should have known as his mom that it was more than agitation. I’m trying to work through it with God’s help and prayer from family and friends, but it still is like a fresh wound. I know that someday that wound will heal, but there will always be a scar.

  6. Katie H
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    Thank you! I lost my Dad in April 2018. It’s still very much a struggle for me – especially on important days. My Dad also instilled in me a deep respect & love for Nature. I seem him everywhere. I miss him terribly and I, like everyone else, I wish I could turn back time. Your words are so helpful going into this Father’s Day.

  7. Darlene
    | Reply

    Our son took his life on March 4, 2019. He suffered from manic depressive disease, but we didn’t know that…he had not sought help until just a few months before his death, and he had to leave a message when he called the agency that could have helped him. The guilt is definitely there. I feel I should have known as his mom that it was more than agitation. I’m trying to work through it with God’s help and prayer from family and friends, but it still is like a fresh wound. I know that someday that wound will heal, but there will always be a scar.

  8. Jan Bassier
    | Reply

    Beautifully written, Ashley ~ I love that you had a moment of feeling the okay from your dad to move on. It takes a while – sometimes a long while, and the back and forth of emotions comes and goes for the rest of your life, I think. Though it gets easier to carry – or we get stronger. Thank you so much for sharing.

  9. Kris Elmore
    | Reply

    Thank you for taking the time to share your grief experience. I lost my Dad to suicide in 1992.
    Every Father’s day since 1992 has felt bitter sweet.
    I take time to remember how he lived and the wonderful life lessons he taught me.

  10. Page D.
    | Reply

    Thank you for writing/getting this information out there. It was very well written and oh so true.

    My dad committed suicide twenty years ago. My mom took his death the hardest. Eight years later, she took her own life too.

    It is so difficult to go through. I would encourage everyone (like Ashley suggested) to find a support group if possible. Most folks will never understand what we’ve been through. Us survivors, however, do.
    It was great closure for me and I met some amazing people along thecway.

    Don’t give up folks. It does get better. Wishing you all nothing but the best!

  11. Jenn Diller
    | Reply

    What a great way to honor your dad!

  12. Lena Lanum
    | Reply

    Thank you so much Ashley. Beautifully written. We miss your dad too. We enjoyed his company whenever we saw him. I miss the laugh! The NASCAR races were always so enjoyable. Bless you

  13. Ashley
    | Reply

    Hi Ashley,

    My name is Ashley too, and I recently lost my dad to suicide on August 30th, 2020. Your article hits home with me on so many points, especially this: “The anger was perhaps the strongest, because it was a shell that protected me from having to face the other emotions that I couldn’t even name at that point and certainly wasn’t ready to deal with.” I am not an angry person, but I have been so angry these past few months. I find comfort in knowing I am not alone, and I greatly appreciate you writing this article. I keep hearing that things will get easier, but right now – this seems impossible. I feel like my life has been turned upside down and I will never be the same.

  14. Ana
    | Reply

    Hi Ashley, thank you so much for sharing that. I can relate to so many of those feelings (especially feeling like I should have known or could have done something). My 21 year old daughter took her life August 10, 2020 – a day that will forever be etched in my brain. She would have been 22 on October 15th. She was always so full of love and always with a smile. I knew she struggled with drugs and alcohol, but had no idea she was struggling with mental illness until the day before she took her life. She had been sober for two months and wanted to “be a better person”. The pain is so indescribable – I can’t even find a word to express it. I also feel that I should have known she was struggling, but I just had no clue. I have so many jumbled feelings and questions. I’ve come to the conclusion that my questions will not be answered and I just have to stop wishing they will be or it will drive me crazy. I want to try to find a way to honor her life and to some day, somehow, help others who may also be experiencing this pain. I am grateful that I was led to this website, and your article, and I believe that each person sharing their experience is helping others. Maybe soon I will be able to write an article as well, and hopefully be able to help in some small way…

  15. Pam
    | Reply

    Thank you for sharing. I do have a question for anyone that may have a similar situation. My son died in 2018. He has 2 beautiful little girls (ages 4 and 8 when he died). Her had gone through a terrible divorce that included multiple lies from his ex wife. When they were married, he took care of those girls almost by himself. The girls were such “daddy’s girls” and they were his life! He was devastated after the divorce when the judge restricted visitation. After a year, he could not take another day without seeing or talking to his babies. I was so angry at his ex wife (she was a close to a daughter that I would ever have). Her mom hadn’t been involved in her life much until the divorce proceedings began. (I will say that I blame her mother for convincing his ex wife to fabricate stories). When she brought the girls t my house for me to tell them about their daddy, I couldn’t bring myself to tell them what he did… I did not lie, as I told them he was sick (I do beleive that depression is a mental illness)…so I don’t lie… he was sick, very sick! Hs ex wife actually apologized and told me she felt some responsibility for what happened! I lost it right then and told her I hoped it haunted her when she sees the girls without their dad. I will say that the ex wife was in a new relationship (and it was with a longtime friend that my son grew up with). Sorry for the long lead in to my questions but I don’t know anyone that has had the similar situation with their young grandkids losing their father. I have no idea at what point I should explain the whole situation to them. Should I tell the oldest first and a what age (she is 10 now) and wait until the youngest can understand (she is 6 now). They live with their mom and her boyfriend. They call him their stepdad and a stepsister… I just cry when I hear that. I don’t know how to handle this. As I said, the boyfriend has been a family friend. Our families have known each other since all of our kids were in kindergarten. He is a good guy and when I see him with the girls, he seems to have picked up where my son left… he does most of the caregiving to them. I am thankful but have such guilt because I’m seeming to accept the situation. The guilt of this is killing me inside. I don’t want my granddaughters to forget their dad and just have him replaced with someone else but I thankful it is someone like my son that is stepping in. Does anyone have any advise or soar situations? Especially concerning when I should tell his girls the whole story? My apologies for the long post. I just found this site today and it made me feel safe enough to reach out for advice Thank you

    • brandylidbeck
      | Reply

      So glad you found the site, Pam. Welcome! I’m so sorry to hear about your son. Unfortunately, there is no “How To” book on how/when to talk to his children but I would strongly suggest his mom being involved in it as well. Take care of yourself. This is so heartbreaking.

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