17 years ago today I lost my father. While I don’t normally post too much about personal things, because I realize that most of you don’t read this blog for accounts of my life, feeling connected to you as readers and commenters, I felt inspired to write about this today.
If you haven’t lost a parent (or a dear loved one) or lost someone only recently, it’s hard to understand the feelings that you experience years later. When I think about how much my father has missed out on since his passing, it seems like more than 17 years. However, on the other hand, it just doesn’t seem possible that this much time has gone by.
Losing my dad has taught me that life is messy and sometimes incredibly cruel. When my dad got diagnosed with Melanoma (the second time) in 1996 he was 44 years old. Several years earlier he had a mole removed from his shoulder that, surprisingly, came back as Melanoma. It was pretty deep. Yet, despite this, after having surgery, which included removal of some lymph nodes in the surrounding areas of the cancer and a skin graph, he was declared cancer-free. It hadn’t spread. What a relief. Therefore, in 1996, after months of him being ill, first with what we thought was at first food poisoning and then an ulcer, a CT scan showed a tumor in his intestinal tract. We were shocked when doctors asked about his previous diagnosis of Melanoma on his skin. What did one have to do with the other? Back in the 90’s it was still misunderstood how Melanoma spread. As we came to find out, while his lymph nodes were clean, the cancer had gotten into his blood stream and spread. He was given 6 months to live, however, when my uncle, a surgeon, looked at has reports and scans, he gave him six weeks. Yes, that’s how quickly Melanoma spreads.
My dad wound up surviving 15 months through extremely dangerous treatments, the blessing of having a doctor in the family who could step in and help, multiple surgeries, and more. We celebrated his 45th birthday in a Florida hospital, and my sister and I spent our last Christmas separated from our parents while my dad had yet another surgery in Florida on Christmas Eve. In the end, it was my dad’s decision to stop all treatment. As hard as it can be to believe, we all supported him. We had hospice come into our home and he died with dignity at around 7:30pm.
Living through the 15 months that he was sick, combined with the grieving that followed, practically wrecked me. I was 23 when he died, not a child, but someone who was just starting to begin true adulthood. I still needed him. Losing him changed me forever. I saw the world differently. Suddenly waiting around for things to happen seemed silly, petty stuff was senseless and at a very young age I took an inventory of my life that most people don’t do until middle age.
One thing that I was deeply unsatisfied about what my career as a fashion designer. This really pissed me off. Not only had I decided that I was going to be one at the age of 9, and then worked my butt off to become one, but I felt really inconvenienced by the fact that I didn’t feel settled in my career. I resented that something gnawed at me and told me that this was not the career I was meant for. I just wanted to stick my head in the sand and go to work. Yet, the more meetings I sat in where the design team would spend 20 minutes arguing over something like whether a skirt should be 18″ or 19″ long, or if a shirt should have four buttons or five, it became clearer and clearer, this wasn’t me anymore. It was on a 1st class Chunnel train from London to Paris for work at 25 and sipping champagne, miserable, that I realized that there was no way this career was going to make me happy.
The thing I have learned about grief and loss is that it never goes away. However, what you learn to do is plant beautiful things around the ugly hole that never gets filled again. 17 years later, I have learned to do that. Not only did I eventually leave my career as a fashion designer to start my style consulting business in 2002, but I learned how to become the person who was born the day my dad died. And, for this, I wouldn’t trade anything. What I have learned is that, while life can throw you some of the ugliest and most devastating things, it’s not only what you do with them that matter, but how you see them. 17 years later, not only have I moved on, but my entire family has. It can be crushing to know that my dad never saw either me or my sister get married and never met his grandchildren, however, I think that makes him very happy from heaven to know that if he showed up today we wouldn’t know where he would fit. If you are only experiencing recent loss this may sound horrible but, trust me, in 17 years you will understand.
In 2008 I released my first book. I didn’t have a doubt in my mind who I would dedicate it to. If it wasn’t for the loss of my dad, my life probably would have never skewed the way it did. Interestingly, my father was an entrepreneur too. I guess it isn’t just the sarcastic eye roll, the exact same mouth, stoicism, and the way I tend to internalize a lot, that I inherited from him.
Right before my book released I got married. It was 20 days prior to the 10 year anniversary of my dad’s death. I knew I wanted to do something that honored him, but also knew that I didn’t want to do something sappy. When I considered the sappy route I could just see my dad in heaven, rolling his eyes, saying something like, “are you kidding me?”. Instead, this is what seemed appropriate, a celebration of life, vs. a mourning of loss. A tribute that reminded everyone that it’s okay to move on and create a beautiful life, while still honoring those who made it possible. The video below is what I did.
Nothing seemed more perfect.
Oh, and FYI, I can promise you that my dad is rolling his eyes in heaven right now for me even taking this much time to write this post. Sorry dad, but deal with it, you were loved by many, and still are.
I really appreciate your sharing this today. Sharing our vulnerability and strength is intimidating. But you made me look forward to getting 17 years out from my own loss. Thank you.
Hi Jen! I am so sorry for your loss! It’s so tough, isn’t it? The early stages are really hard, if not impossible! I often equate it to having a leg amputated and having to learn how to walk all over again. One of the hardest parts is moving on without feeling of guilt. Early on I would feel guilty if I was happy or guilty for moving on. It takes time to realize that those you lost are cheering on for you to do so. It takes time. You are in my thoughts.
The survivor’s guilt is exactly it! I lost my brother in law a year ago, my father in law in August, but most of my guilt comes from enjoying the birth of our two healthy sons after our daughter was stillborn six years ago. I tormented myself for a long time over enjoying their milestones and daily silliness, but I finally realized that I didn’t have to feel like I chose them over her. There was no choice involved. I hope my husband begins to feel the same about our other losses soon.
Wow, that is a lot of loss in such a short period of time. I can’t even imagine and I am so sorry to hear this. Yea, this many years out it all seems so much simpler, but it was a long haul because everyone grieves differently. It took years before my mom, sister and I could come back together after we all seemed to go to different corners and heal differently. It can be frustrating when someone else is at a different place and, seeing that both of these losses hit so close to home for your husband, it must be terribly difficult for him, and you being his partner. There really is no easy way and that is the worst part about it. I have seen loss affect people in ways that just pulls them under for a long time, some never really recover. It’s really awful. Has your husband considered a type of bereavement group or seeking counseling? It just may be too much for him to handle on his own.
I really appreciate you sharing about how it impacted the relationships in your family. He is seeing a grief counselor, and hopefully over time he will heal.
I am sure he will. As long as he is willing he will find his way. Until then, both you and he are in my thoughts.
What a beautiful, heartfelt tribute! Thank you for sharing. Looks like a gorgeous wedding.
Thanks, Keri! It was such a beautiful wedding and that moment was just so touching. Nobody really knew I was going to do it and I had no idea how it would turn out. I had visions of myself dancing alone on the dance floor. I knew that wouldn’t be the case, but I never in a million years imagined the reaction that it got. Some of the older folks, who could barely walk, even got out and at least swayed. If you look in the background not a seat was filled. Thanks again for your kind comment!!
This was a such a sweet tribute to your dad and I loved reading a little bit more about your personal life. The wedding video tribute was such a great idea too.
Thank you, Brooke. I never know exactly how to balance the personal and the non on this blog. So I am happy to hear this resonated with you! Thanks for your comment!
Thank you for taking the time to share! It really touched me.
Thank you so much, Christina! I really appreciate your comment!
What I have always liked about your blogs is that they focus on fashion and not your personal life, however, in saying that I want to say, I APPRECIATE that you shared this part of your life with us, your readers. It was very sweet and encouraging…I am still grieving the death of my mom (4 years ago) and my daddy (2 years ago)….sometimes, it feels like it is suffocating me, but it was encouraging to read that there is light and hope and joy coming.
Thank you, again!!
Thank you Stacie! I totally get what you are saying. I don’t want to make this a personal blog because it’s just not my style to share that much, and I always try to make anything I do post about me relevant to the topic. I just don’t think I am interesting enough to make the posts about me…unless you want to know what my current Netflix binge is. My life is BORING! Haha! I’ve been good at wearing my emotions on my sleeve either. I get that from my dad. 😉
I REALLY appreciate your kind words. I am sorry for your loss. I totally know that suffocating feeling you are talking about. What I also did was eat A LOT. I just felt like I had this void that I couldn’t fill, like an itch that couldn’t be scratched. It was like I couldn’t shove enough food into my mouth. I assure you it does get easier. Time really does heal all wounds. My best to you during this time of healing!
I am in a similar position Stacie, my dad passed within a week of his diagnoses
I’m in a similar state Stacie, my dad passed two years ago within a week of his diagnosis. My mom passed suddenly the year before. I agree, reading Bridgette’s thoughtful and eloquent words is encouraging.
Oh wow, way too much loss. I always like to think that God has some sort of suffering quota, like if you go through hard times he spares you. Unfortunately, this is not the case. I am sorry for both your losses!!!
I love this. It’s a sweet tribute, and we can see that the groom was clearly smitten and a large time was had by all. Thanks for sharing.
Thanks so much! Yea, my husband is a rock star, a wonderful man. I appreciate your kind words!!
Bridgette, what a lovely tribute to your dear father. Thank you very much for sharing. I can relate on so many levels. P.S. You were an absolutely stunning bride. I loved the video clip.
Oh, thank you!!! At that point in the day, I was prety danced out and sweaty! Haha. Even though we got married in October it was unseasonably warm at about 85 degrees. I really appreciate your kind words and am happy (and sad) to hear you felt a connection. Unfortunately, we all deal with loss like this on some level. Regardless of it being just the way life is, it doesn’t make it any easier. Thanks again!
I loved this post so much, Bridgette, and I enjoyed learning more about you and your dad. What a wonderful tribute you made to him. It was filled with joy and happiness instead of sadness. You look so beautiful in the video and I love the photo of you and your dad in the pool. He would be very proud of you for all of the awareness you have brought to melanoma, as well as for all of the great accomplishments you have. Thanks for sharing your memories of your father with us!
Thanks, Debbie! Yes, that photo by the pool was one of my favorite moments with him that I am so grateful to have in a photo. I was 4 and were in Florida visiting Disney World. He took me out of the baby pool and taught me how to swim. We swam up to the ledge and he let me hang on, unassisted, in the deep end and my mom shot that photo. I felt so cool. I really appreciate your kind words. Nothing like turning a negative into a positive, right?
You’re definitely great at turning negatives into positives, Bridgette. I love the story behind the pool photo. Your learning to swim story is much more happy and uplifting than mine. I was six years old and was taught how to swim by a really mean German woman at a swim school. When I asked to use the bathroom, she dunked my head under the water for a really long time. She did that type of thing to kids all the time. Nowadays, she would be brought up on child abuse charges, but this was the early 70s. Luckily, I still loved swimming despite my horrible introduction to it, but I sure would have preferred to have been taught by a loving father rather than by a woman I dubbed the “Swim Nazi” (play on Seinfeld’s Soup Nazi). Thanks again for sharing your father with all of us, as well as your wedding video. I agree with Allie that you were a stunning bride!
This brings me to a total darkness when I lost my parents last year.
Im forever grateful of all the sad stories shared in this blog and this as given me courage to move on with my life..
thank you so much..
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Oh, Bridgette, thank you for loving and trusting your fans as much as we love and hold you dear to us. My heart breaks for you, and your family, losing your Dad at such a young age. You are so intuitive to realize losing your Dad brought incredible strength in your future choices. I was 30 when my Dad died of a heart attack, slightly older than you, but I totally understand your various stages of grief and final acceptance.
Being an “over the hill rocker” myself, I would have liked your Dad very much. I know he was at your wedding cheering you on and loving every minute of it.
It’s so wonderful to see your family have “rocked on” in his memory.
Thanks again for your trust,
A faithful fan,
Pat
Hi Pat! Thank you so much!! Well, I can’t say that I was always that wise, particularly when going through it, but time does help. And, yea, rock and roll and my dad went hand in hand. Another song that reminds me of him is Black Dog by Led Zeppelin. That song didn’t make the cut because it is impossible to dance to. Can you imagine? LOL. Whenever I feel lost or confused, my dad often talks to me through song. I can’t tell you how many times one of the songs that reminds me of him comes on when I feel lost. In fact, on my first trip to the cemetery where he is buried I got lost. It is a huge memorial park and all the stones are flat in the ground. I drove and drove all over and then Black Dog came on. Thanks again for your kind words! Rock on!! m/
You and your husband really know how to “cut a rug!” Your dad has left quite a legacy through you. What joy, what a celebration! Thank you for honoring us by sharing your heart. Hugs!
Haha, I was rewatching the video yesterday and thought, “wow, this is the whitest group of dancers ever!!” Although we did have some flavor in there, but jeez! Frank always laughs at how he dances. There are some other funny moments of him in our actual wedding video. Oh and did you see my mom? She was the one in the teal dress who points her finger to the ceiling. Now SHE knows how to cut a rug. Even more touching, the man who dances with her at the end of the video, was, Dwight, the husband of a dear friend of mine. He walked up to her and told her that, because my dad wasn’t much of a dancer he would be happy too. Dwight was one of my favorite people and, sadly, he passed about 2 years ago. I like that he is in this video too.
Your dad was so cute! I’ve been through it too – when my mom’s metastized into bone cancer. My family and I saw it was like going to Vietnam (PTSD and all). Thank you for your beautiful post.
Hi Trace! He was an exceptionally handsome man, which, of course, I didn’t see until I was older. He was just my dad. He also aged extremely well. In fact, when I was in high school, because he had me at 22, and aged so well, many people assumed I was his girlfriend. Sort of gross, but funny.
Your analogy is so incredibly perfect. I got really sick after he died and was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia because my body just shut down from all the stress. When he was ill, I made the decision I would live at home until he either got better or passed. I lived in NJ and it was a 2 hour commute each way to NYC for work, each way. Between that, the stress, the sleepless nights, the absolute turmoil, and more (you understand) it really ravaged my body. Dealing with a loved one with cancer is seriously one of the hardest things anyone has to deal with, emotionally, spiritually and physically. I am sorry you went through it as well. Thanks for your comment!
Simply beautiful.
Hi Mare! Thank you so much!!!!! I appreciate your kind words!
This is beautiful. What a wonderful tribute to you father.
Hi Jamie, thanks so much!
This has to be one of the best tributes that I have ever seen. You really honored your dad by staying so true to how he lived his life. His taste in music is superb–you will never do better than Classic Rock played loudly!
Thank you so much, Michelle!! You’re right, you will never do better than classic rock played loudly. When I was a kid, I was vacuuming and my dad had Black Sabbath’s Paranoid playing so loudly that I had to put my ear to the vacuum to make sure it was on! Haha! Thanks again for your kind words!