The Best Kept Secret Blog - Adult Orphans

I saw my friend B recently at the grocery store. When I asked her how she'd been, she replied, "Not too well. My dad died a couple of weeks ago. I feel like an orphan."

My mind flew to an incident that happened to me 15 years earlier. My mother died when I was eleven. Just before I turned 30, my father passed away. Shortly after my dad's funeral, I ran into an acquaintance I hadn't seen for several years.

As I recounted my recent, sad news, he responded, "You're an orphan now." And then he laughed at his perceived wit - as if only children can be orphans. Not grown ups. I started to cry.

It's always hard to lose a parent but losing your last parent can set off a seismic shift in your life. No matter how old, how accomplished or how connected you are, you feel abandoned, you feel lost. The one role you've known for your entire existence is suddenly stripped away - you are no longer someones child.

I experienced another emotion when my dad died that I was ashamed to fess up to - relief. Part of me thought, "Finally, I can live my life without comment or criticism."

Now, my dad was my biggest supporter but, like any child, I knew what pleased him and what didn't. And every time I made a significant choice or decision, in the back of my mind I wondered, "What will Dad think?" Even though I was all grown up, I still wanted to please him.

I gave B a hug and tried my best to listen and not on-up her with my tales of grief and mourning. But I couldn't resist telling her a few things . . .

Grieving takes a long time. The first year is especially hard as we go through all the firsts (first birthday, first summer, first Christmas) without the person we've lost.

I still see my dad from time to time when a particular expression flits a cross my daughter's face. It's nice.

And, as corny as this sounds, we carry in us the years of love, support, advice and wisdom our parents give us. My dad can no longer comment or criticise, but he still exerts an influence over my choices and actions. And I, in turn, will pass this legacy on to my children. In this sense, he does live on.