Good Grief

I had a long and interesting talk yesterday with an expert on a case I'm working on. She's a clinical psychologist, and consulting for us. We talked about the concept of grieving. She asked whether I'd ever lost someone close to me, and I told her about my father, gone 30 years next month. She asked how I grieved his death. I realized I never did. Even in that barbershop where he died, I couldn't do it. My mother came into the scene, as the paramedics were working on him, and I immediately came to her side. She was slow in processing what was going on, and scared and nervous like a little girl. I threw my arms around her, and immediately went into protective role. I was still just 20, but knew it was my role. Later, in the days following, I met my friends and got drunk and numb about the affair. Then came the practical things that I had to do, like coordinating visits from my sisters, shuttling back and forth from the airports, etc... Then I had to learn how to balance a check book, learn about car and homeowner's insurance, condo fees, and all the other activities of the adult world. I went back to my summer job at Jordan Marsh, and then 2 months later returned for my senior year of college. All the while, I had to care take my mother -- who seemed so very old at the time. She was just 11 years older than I am now -- 62. Life came rushing at me. I figured I had to do something practical with my English degree, and applied to the state's 2 best law schools -- UF and UM. I got into both, but knew my mother needed my help, and Gainesville was too far away. So I stayed at UM. It was a great choice -- I met mentors who truly guided my career, and contacts that have made all the difference. I met my life partner, Wifey. The other day, after I got my haircut (fortunately with no fatal MI -- I think about that every time I get in the chair), as I was leaving the shop, the lovely receptionist Rachel told me it was her birthday. She would turn 25. Wow, I reminisced --25 was a big year for me. I graduated law school, passed the Bar, bought a house, and got married. Rachel was awed -- she was still trying to move out of her parents' house! And I never grieved my father's death. Yesterday, I spent some time with his widow -- now back and forth between fantasy and reality. She thinks my sisters have counterparts who visit her -- they're 12 and 15. I have no such doppleganger -- I'm in my mother's mind only as an adult. I guess my sisters can exist as children to her -- spoiled ones, at that, according to her hallucinations, but not me. I'm her caretaker. I'm her grownup. I wonder what toll this has taken on me these past 3 decades. Still, I won't whine about it. Even chatting with this psychologist, I thought of the great Geico commercial that talks about people having appropriate jobs -- the Marine Drill sergeant makes an awful therapist -- he throws the tissues at the man who is expressing his deep feelings and tells him to butch up. Still, I have to figure out a way to grieve...even 30 years after the fact.