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Column: A tribute to my dad

As I approach the 16th Yahrtzeit (anniversary) of my dad’s passing, I am reminded of the deep love and special bond that we shared.
Civkin
Shelley Civkin is a retired communications officer at the Richmond Public Library. File photo

As I approach the 16th Yahrtzeit (anniversary) of my dad’s passing, I am reminded of the deep love and special bond that we shared. While parents have different relationships with each of their children, I considered myself so blessed to have such a loving bond with my dad. He was a supportive, funny and caring father who enjoyed spending time with his two daughters. Whether it was coffee and a walk at Granville Island, or dinner at his favourite hamburger joint, we would talk for hours on end about anything and everything.

My dad had a very youthful spirit and would unabashedly do goofy things when the urge struck. His sense of humor was unrivalled, and was known to have quite the potty mouth. I resemble him more than I realized. For much of my life he was my best friend. I could always trust him to have my back and be there when I needed an ear to listen, or a shoulder to cry on. And we shared much joy together, too.

I’m reading a book now called Women Rowing North: Navigating Life’s Currents and Flourishing as We Age by Mary Pipher. It contains a very poignant chapter about grief, and her sentiments struck a chord in me. She writes: “The grief never goes away. We learn to live with it.” There are people who think the grieving process has a beginning and an end, when in reality, people often grieve the loss of a loved one their entire lives.  As Pipher points out, many things “trigger our grief reaction”; something as innocuous as thinking of my father’s red sweater can set me off on a torrent of tears.

I remember the emotional rawness after my dad died; I was an open wound for two years. It was a bottomless grief; a labyrinth of sadness, from which I could not navigate my way out. Pipher says: “Eventually we will learn to rebalance our lives and achieve some separation from our grief.”

When I finally climbed out of the quicksand of sorrow and my heartache was manageable, I felt a sense of guilt. As though I had no right to feel even mildly happy since my father was no longer in this world. The pain and anguish of bereavement were like a monster consuming me, and if I gave in to normalcy for even a few moments, I felt like a traitor. Balance was nowhere in sight. Nor was resiliency. It is a balancing act, for sure, and like Pipher writes: “We don’t want to drown in our grief or to be utterly detached from it.”

The 16 years since my father’s passing seem like the blink of an eye. Time has dulled the edges of my grief slightly, but it’s still present and accounted for. If I know only one thing for certain, it’s that I was a very lucky daughter.

Shelley Civkin, the retired “Face of Richmond,” was a Librarian & Communications Officer at Richmond Public Library for nearly 30 years, and author of a weekly book review column for 17 years.