My husband died after a very long period of ill health. I got some grieving out of the way during those years, so that when he died I was both relieved and heartbroken, anxious to start the rest of my life and fearful of doing so.
For most people, losing a spouse shocks the fuck out of you. Even when you know it’s coming, it shocks the fuck out of you. It’s like being told the water you’re jumping into is 34 degrees. You know they are saying it, and you know that’s cold, but when you hit the water you can’t breathe and you think you are going to die, and that it would actually be preferable to all the surviving and feeling you’re doing.
That part, the shock of it, that’s pretty universal, though the timing can differ. But what happens next is incredibly personal and individual. For some, a long illness followed by a death just means more things to grieve, for all of the things that you never had a chance to do in all of the years. For others, it gives time to become a little accustomed to the idea of limited time. For some, it means investing heart and soul into the relationship and clutching every moment. For others, it means having to pull back a little, to try to keep your head above the water. For some, it means guilt and pain and wondering what you could have done better. For others, it means there was nothing to be done; it was a long illness and those happen and life isn’t all under our control.
For some, the death means the real work of grief is just beginning. For others, the real work has been happening all along. For some, everything becomes about grieving and distractions just put off the necessary time spent in grief. For others, grief is more of a subconscious process that can be going on all the time, out of sight.
I started dating within a year of my first husband’s death, and it wasn’t too soon. Within 9 months of this death I was fine. Not perfectly happy and brilliant and over it, but fine. I was someone who had to do a lot of hard grieving work right up front and then woke up one day and the hard part was just over.
The point of all this rambling is that no one really knows what your father is feeling, not completely. Probably not even your father. In hindsight he might eventually be able to speak eloquently about, but most of us don’t get eloquent. We just get by.
I’m sorry you’re dealing with this grief. The first holidays are so hard for many of us because they represent everything good and positive about family, and now you have something else to grieve–the loss of what you thought your Christmas would be. I’m truly sorry for that.
And as others have said, your feelings are your feelings. You can’t think your way out of them. Grief just is. But you can think your way out of how you represent yourself, and if you want to have a cordial relationship with your father, now is not the time to put a lot of demands on him. He’s jumping in his own cold water. You’re jumping in yours.
I wish you the best.