Wrote this shortly after my Dad passed away in 2011. My Dad was a very hard working man, with a very English sense of humour, and I miss him every day.
That realization came to me the day my Dad passed away around Easter (yes my Blogcation, wasn’t really a vacation it was me helping out my Mum (as best I could) to deal with my Dad’s passing). I still haven’t really come to grips or feel comfortable writing about this subject, but the N.C.F.B.A. did convince me that when I did, it would be OK, as long as I was honest (thanks Preet, Michael James, Canadian Capitalist, Larry Mac and My Own Advisor).
With this in mind, I have actually written a few posts already about this topic and what I have learned over the past few months, but I want to edit them before posting them (so that they simply aren’t cathartic and emotional explosions from me) . One idea and post that came to me right after my Dad’s passing was the realization of when you reach Adulthood.
I am an Adult Now?
As I was driving to my Parent’s home (about a 2 hour drive) just after my Mum had called to tell me about my Dad’s passing, I had a lot of thoughts and emotions going on but the one that really stuck with me from that day is, I am an Adult Now (and frankly it scares the hell out of me).
Most of us grow up with our parents, and in most situations we start endowing our parents with super powers (in our own minds). Parents are indestructible, they are infallible, and they are someone (or more specifically the ONE) who can make things better (I find it hard to believe my kids think this way about me). This begs the question: when your parents finally pass on, what happens then? Who takes care of you then?
I think the easy answer is, “now it’s time to put on the big boy (or girl) pants and start doing the job yourself“, but that almost sounds trite. There are a lot of people I know that have had to start taking care of themselves very early on in their lives (and I respect those folks a great deal), so me lamenting that I am now suddenly under all this pressure at the tender age of 50, sounds like a pile of self-pitying crap, but it is still how I feel.
Having had a few months to think about this, it is natural to mourn the loss of someone who has been a large part of your life, and to lament their departure with some self-pity, and I guess I am getting used to being an Adult, I might actually even figure out how money works.