A Daughter’s Grief and Finding Peace

It has been a year since my father passed away. A year since my sister called me to tell me that my father had had a heart attack and she wasn’t sure what was going on. A year since she called back 30 minutes later to say he didn’t make it. A year since I dropped everything and drove home as fast as I could. It has been a year since I had to say goodbye.

A year since time has seemed to fly by but stand still all at the same time.

I thought that I would be okay, but I’m not. I can’t say for sure that I ever will be. My heart broke that day worse than I ever could have imagined. After the initial shock, I was angry. I was so mad at my dad for leaving us, especially my mom; all I could think was “how could you?” – like he had a choice. Then I was just sad. I spent the week after my dad’s death at my mom’s house and I couldn’t sleep, I got sicker because of the stress, and I could feel my dad everywhere. I would go into the bathroom to cry because I didn’t want to get anyone else started.

I waited for him to walk thru the front door… for a moment I’d forget he was gone.

My dad and I always bonded over music. There are so many things I want to talk to him about, like Ozzy’s new album and the Rockville that I’m going to in May. When I was little, my family didn’t watch tv, we would have music playing and we would dance around all the time. When I’m feeling down, the first thing I do is turn on the radio. One of my dad’s favorite songs was Crazy Train and since he’s passed, I’ve noticed that it plays more and more on my playlist; it always seems to come on just when I need it. It’s like my dad is saying, “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

People try to be comforting, but I find no comfort in it. I still hate when I’m asked how I’m doing. I want to breakdown. I want to scream at them. I want to shake them and be like, “How do you think I’m doing? I lost my father”. But I don’t. I tell them that I’m taking it day by day, and it gets a little easier as time goes by. But that’s a lie. It hasn’t gotten easier. Every time I think about the things my dad is missing out on, I’m back at square one. And I find myself doing that more now than I did a year ago.

I beg God every single day to bring him back.

Glenn Caplan was not biologically my father; Glenn Caplan was an amazing man that chose to be my father. He was a man who fell in love with a woman that already had a child, and he asked to adopt that child and raise her as his own. However, let me make something very clear – he was not my step-father, he was not my bonus dad, or any other variation of the sort – he was/is my dad. He was the man that raised me, taught me how to ride a bike, taught me how to dribble a basketball between my legs (I really wanted to be the female Muggsy Bogues), danced with me at all the father-daughter dances, and helped me with my homework. Every once in a while, I sit alone in my office, and just read thru my adoption papers (I love reading the letters that people wrote on his behalf) or look at all the photos I have of my dad… it’s comforting.

I have spent a year thinking about what I’d say when I sat down to write this, because I knew I was going to write something, I had to. But I never got all the words written down. Now it is 8:45 at night and I am pouring my heart into this. I’m crying. I realized a year ago that my life was never going to be the same, but it’s hitting me at this very moment, that it has been a year, I made it thru what some people say is the hardest part. My mom made it. My sisters made it. We are all still sad, all still grieving, we all still cry, and it will be like this for a long time. And that’s okay. My dad was awesome, and he deserves to be missed.

I find peace in knowing that one day we will meet again. I find peace in knowing that he’s watching over me, kicked back in a recliner, watching football with a beer in his hand. I still don’t understand why the Lord decided it was his time, but I also don’t think I am meant to right now and I am okay with that.

I love you Daddy