Insights into Grief as a Daughter. 2 Years of Missing My Dad, Neville Moriarty.

Insights into Grief as a Daughter. 2 Years of Missing my Dad, Neville Moriarty.

Today marks 2 years since my Dad, Neville Moriarty, died. The whole 42 years of my life that he was on this earth, I felt very loved. My Dad kept me safe, protected me and supported me to be Michelle Moriarty.

My Dad supported me through thick and thin, through a few of my horrendous choices, and through so many wonderful and excellent choices.

I always felt how my Dad believed in me. He always encouraged me to do my best and he saw my potential, even when I couldn’t. I didn’t always meet my potential, lol, but what matters is that my Dad was encouraging and had my back.

My Dad was the most decent human being that I know. Stable, secure, pragmatic, intelligent, considerate, wise, and what I value most, he was kind. He always used exceptional manners, even if he was staunchly in disagreement or dealing with an idiot, he would always do it with respect.

We were both stubborn at times in our conversation, and would respectfully agree to disagree. Being an only child my Dad taught me to be an independent person. He taught me how to camp, how to fish, how to paint the house and look after my belongings.

He held a mirror up to my life and reflected back to me things that I needed to hear, that I did not necessarily want to hear. And when I faced the truth and admitted after some hard lessons that he was right, he was kind and supportive.

We had many great conversations as I grew older. After Nathan’s (my late partner) death, our conversations became even more important to me.

I am content in that we had held such important, yet sometimes challenging, conversations about life, death, religion, politics, and just general chit chat about the latest thing happening in our lives. I certainly feel fortunate to have such a close relationship with my Dad.

Somehow, time has moved forward to 2 years since the day that my Dad died. I just really miss him.

The thing about missing someone who has died, is that their death is not the end of their being.

Grief, in it’s entirety, is bloody hard. But what is not spoken about so much when we talk about ‘grief’, is the part that helps us to not only survive, but also to grow (if we choose) after a loss.

That part is the love that continues on, throughout the rest of our lives.

We can choose to ignore it and focus on the sadness. Don’t get me wrong, feeling intensely sad through grief is a huge part of the grieving process. But, at the same time, we can also embrace the love.

The love of that existed, and that exists. The love of what was, and what is, and feel it in our hearts, and know it in our mind.

Love, fortunately, unlike our human existence, turns out to be both unconditional and immortal. And that is something that death, and grief, can never, ever, change or steal from us.

My Dad might not be here in body, but his life, his memory and his love, all of that continues along with me as Michelle Moriarty, Neville Moriarty’s daughter.

This love for my legend Dad is combined with such huge feelings of appreciation and gratitude. I draw on love, good solid values and bring hope and feelings of future into the mix.

Living the rest of my life to continue to make my Dad proud is important to me. For me this is where my own growth through grief comes from. It brings me strength to keep doing what I am doing in the grief space.

Today marks 2 years since my Dad died, so I honour his life. I do this every day, but today I take a little extra time out to reflect and connect.

“Thanks Dad, for being such a legend. Words don’t express how much I miss you on this earth with us. I will keep pushing forward and making you proud. Love Forever and Always, Your Daughter, Michelle”.

More information on Grief Connect Services is available at www.griefconnect.com.au

So here is the write up from me and my share for International Widows Day: Widowhood is grief, and one of the deepest forms of grief a person can ever experience. It is a type of grief that I would never wish on my worst enemy. It is unfathomable to explain just how horrendous, devastating and lonely widowhood grief can feel. Yesterday, I did not write this blog like I had planned originally, because I was out spending time with one of my children. And let me tell you, as a widowed parent, I have spent most of my early widowhood feeling like I was the shittiest parent ever.

Firstly, because suddenly I was doing a job that I never signed up to do on my own. What a joke that was. It was supposed to be two of us. Nathan and I – riding the rollercoaster of parenting together. He was supposed to be alive and keep working as a parenting team alongside me.

Secondly, because even though I tried my best throughout all of my parenting, it was not always great. My children were not only managing their own grief, but they were also experiencing their mother’s grief. At times it as not pretty and was damned right ugly at times. I’m not proud of that.

My window of tolerance very small with irritability and impatience a go to in my mothering survival. I know what they have seen is a mum who has struggled with grief missing their Dad (and Step Dad). They have had a mum who has not ticked all the boxes of being a perfect parent. But lets face it… that’s a load of rubbish as there is no such thing as a perfect parent, only an ideal.

As a young widowed parent, I was forced to be questioning how I was going to continue find ways to keep feeding my children? How was I going to keep a roof over our heads long term? Could we stay living in our family home? Because one half of the household income is no longer there to pay the bills and Maslow’s hierarchy of basic needs was under threat. Because there is no crisis widowed payment from Centrelink (another issue for another write up) and it’s walking away from Centrelink with no support and in deep grief after asking for help with a “too bad, so sad” response.

Let me tell you that the feeling of not knowing if you can keep your house, some kind of continuing lifestyle for your kids, or how you are going to pay the car registration and many other bills that keep arriving, is absolutely terrifying and only serves to compound grief missing your person.

And that is just scratching the surface of what widowhood is about. Because when our person dies, our entire life turns into something we do not recognise, do not know, did not ask for, and never wanted. Within this deep grief, we are forced to continue pushing through to the next day. But quite often, that is too much. People wanting to help around make statements of good intent and say “just get through the next day”… NO. This is about getting through the next hour or the next minute. It is survival mode at it’s purest.

Yes, time has gone on for me. I never thought it would. But here we are, me writing, you reading, 8 years after Nathan died. My life has changed immensely in ways that I never thought possible. And also, as a widow, when I have days like yesterday, where I am functioning and multitasking like a boss again, and also spending quality time with my kids, that has to be celebrated, and means that it’s OK to write this blog a day late.

To non-widowed parents, yesterday, might have seemed like just another average day. Just another day of doing routine tasks. But for me, and for many widowed people out there, it is an achievement in grief, and in life. Maggie Dent, an incredible Parenting Expert advocates that ‘You just have to be a good parent 30-40% of the time’ on her “Good Enough Parent” podcast. So, yesterday, as a widowed parent, to be able to get through the day and feel like a “good enough parent” is something worth celebrating and I’m high fiving myself. I know Nathan would be high fiving me right back from the heavens. So I’ll take that and embrace it.

Because the reality is that for many widowed people, we can lower those percentage numbers… because running on empty and still making it to the end of the day.. or the end of the hour in one piece and only ‘just’ functioning is a huge achievement when experiencing deep grief.

To all of my widowed friends and peers out there who are pushing hard though each day, please know that you are freaking amazing. Huge credit to you for arriving at this point in time, right now. You are doing great, even though it doesn’t feel like it. I see you. Remember that you are not alone.

Celebrate the small wins. And remember that although it might not feel like it, there is hope and there is a future ahead.

As we move into the day after International Widows’ Day, others may move forward, but we remember.

We live being widowed every single day.

If you know someone who is widowed and grieving, please let them know about the Grief Connect® Community. A space for grief to be shared and supported by peers in live online conversations and posts. Access the community by clicking the button below.