Feeling the Loss of a Parent

AN EDITED VERSION OF THIS POST IS SCHEDULED TO APPEAR IN  LETTERS TO THE EDITOR IN THE NEW YORK TIMES

("I Couldn't Say "My Mother" Without Crying")

My dad died 40 years ago this coming December and while I was not a teenager at his passing (I was 27 at the time)  I still feel his loss daily.  

The arc of my business life changed dramatically (my nearly life long dream of practicing law with my dad over almost as soon as it began) and I mourn that he never got the opportunity to be a grandfather to my children, for them to feel his warmth and his strength.  But most of all I miss his companionship.

I understand that I did not suffer my loss when I was still trying to sort out the basics of who I was, or attempting to grapple with the fundamentals of the complex workings of the universe. But grief remains a part of my being, my soul, even as I near 70. 

So while I understand that there are quantum differences between losing a parent in one's formative years as opposed to when one is supposedly able to more easily stand on one's feet, I still occasionally wobble four decades removed from the guiding hand of my dad. The pain of loss has no age limits.