All I can say, and I know it sounds cliche, but time really does heal wounds. You will still be sad when you think about your father, but the panging inescapable fear and pain that you're experiencing now WILL subside.
The only advice I have is to go easy on yourself, don't try and "hold yourself" to any standards, some days will be harder than others, but you WILL experience joy again, even if you literally can't imagine it.
I think you need to know that it is ok to grieve. No one is going to think less of you for crying at the funeral, in fact, doing so shows just how much you loved and cared for your father. Let other people comfort you.
However, if you're dedicated to this idea of showing strength, you can do your part to help with the organization of everything necessary as a result of your father's passing. Is the funeral already arranged? Did someone write the obituary and get it published? How is your mom holding up? Can you get a casserole over to her house?
Finally, talk to your mom about all the financial stuff. She probably had several joint accounts with your dad that will be frozen when they hear about his passing. Documentation will need to be submitted so she can get the assets into her name only. All of the accounts that were only in his name with no beneficiaries listed will go into his estate. Every estate gets assigned an executor, and it will probably be your mom. Let her know that you would be happy to go to those sorts of appointments with her. Buy 5-10 death certificates. Each financial institution will need to at least make a copy, and some will need an original.
Of course all that stuff in the previous paragraph needs to wait until everyone involved is ready. In the meantime, force yourself to eat even if you don't feel like it. Make sure your mom and siblings are eating too. Grief always kills my appetite, but you've got to keep eating so you can have the strength to emotionally recover.
This isn't something you get over. You just deal with it, a day at a time, and eventually you will find that a year has gone by, then two, and at some point it doesn't feel like you are drowning in sadness every day.
Let yourself cry. But also, eat decently. Exercise, even if you don't feel like it. Get your hair cut, shower, and get dressed every day. Find someone to talk to, whether that's an SO, a friend, clergy, or a professional.
I find strength in remembering how my dad taught me to conduct myself - he was an excellent father - and in trying to live up to that legacy. In particular, when my dad died two hundred people packed themselves into our little country church. In a town of three hundred. When I die I hope to have touched that many lives.
I don't think you can't look at it as your dad is gone rather you've got to look at it as his time has ended. And now that it's ended it's time to reflect and remember the times that you cherish and the good times the two of you had together and the stories of the good times that the rest of your family had together. Death is a terrible thing to go through but remembering the best makes it sting a little less.
Also I know that this is HN and most folks on here are Atheist or Agnostic or what ever but there is a lot of comfort to be found in your faith during this time.
I truly am sorry and for what it's worth I pray that God will bless you and your family and keep you in these troubling times.
Feel what you got to feel. deal with the pile of shit that's in your lap however you have to. Take time off of work (I took 3 weeks and I still felt like I wasn't really ready). Reconnect with what's important to you. Death brings people together and it can be a positive thing.
Lean on support right now. Just generally take care of yourself right now. Be smart and you'll get through it in a healthy way.
This little piece of writing by Aaron Freeman always made me feel a little better [1].
"You want a physicist to speak at your funeral. You want the physicist to talk to your grieving family about the conservation of energy, so they will understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind your sobbing mother about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy gets created in the universe, and none is destroyed. You want your mother to know that all your energy, every vibration, every Btu of heat, every wave of every particle that was her beloved child remains with her in this world. You want the physicist to tell your weeping father that amid energies of the cosmos, you gave as good as you got.
And at one point you'd hope that the physicist would step down from the pulpit and walk to your brokenhearted spouse there in the pew and tell him that all the photons that ever bounced off your face, all the particles whose paths were interrupted by your smile, by the touch of your hair, hundreds of trillions of particles, have raced off like children, their ways forever changed by you. And as your widow rocks in the arms of a loving family, may the physicist let her know that all the photons that bounced from you were gathered in the particle detectors that are her eyes, that those photons created within her constellations of electromagnetically charged neurons whose energy will go on forever.
And the physicist will remind the congregation of how much of all our energy is given off as heat. There may be a few fanning themselves with their programs as he says it. And he will tell them that the warmth that flowed through you in life is still here, still part of all that we are, even as we who mourn continue the heat of our own lives.
And you'll want the physicist to explain to those who loved you that they need not have faith; indeed, they should not have faith. Let them know that they can measure, that scientists have measured precisely the conservation of energy and found it accurate, verifiable and consistent across space and time. You can hope your family will examine the evidence and satisfy themselves that the science is sound and that they'll be comforted to know your energy's still around. According to the law of the conservation of energy, not a bit of you is gone; you're just less orderly. Amen."
[1] http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4675953
But life goes on. Grief is addictive and trawling support groups, both on and offline, I found many, many people that have been stuck in their grief for many years, refusing to deal on a fundamental level with their loss. Like I said, I'll never get over her loss. But I realised a few things: There is a difference between grief, and feeling sorry for yourself. Give yourself space and time to deal with the former, kick your own ass when you find yourself stuck in the latter. Grief is a productive process, feeling sorry for yourself isn't. Learn to recognise it, and don't give yourself time for that crap. It is very easy to slip from "why her" to "why me". The former is grief, the latter is self-pity. It is ok to have some of that, but understand that every day, thousands of mothers, fathers, daughters and sons die. Some young, some old, and the majority of them too soon. This is the nature of our universe.
It could turn out that your "best friends" don't understand how to help you and be there for you, and "acquaintances" becoming and enormous pillar of support.
I don't know about "time healing wounds" - speaking for myself, I understood quickly that I will never get over this, and that I should find a way to find an accommodation for this hole in my life without debilitating myself.
Live every day like it is your last. Ask yourself everyday what positive contribution you make to the people around you.
Understand it isn't anything personal. Understand that the universe didn't point its' finger at you and thought "fuck that guy in particular".
Know that before you can help others, you must help yourself.
As for being there for your loved ones: Make sure they eat, especially your mom. Stay away from self pity and help them do the same. Talk about happy memories about your dad with your mom and siblings.
Be strong.
My advice is likely contrary to what others have posted and I really don't have any fancy <n> step process, the one thing I did was to take one day at a time, and threw myself into work. (Luckily my startup got off the ground and is running smoothly)
But I never showed grief or weakness to my family, comforted my siblings and being a pillar to the family, even though I was shattered inside (I LOVED and ADORED my dad). I gained comfort in seeing my mom & family heal and laugh again. I also started doing mindfulness meditation during this period and it helped calm me down a lot.
tl;dr: everyone has their own way of dealing with such events, mine was to hunker down and immerse myself into work & meditation. Hope that helps and sorry for your loss. It will heal over time.
Reading "Option B" by Sheryl Sandberg can help you putting many things in perspective. I recommend it.
Don't try to be stronger than you can be. Look to be strong together, where strength, at least in these early, grief-filled days, is simply that everyone is able to take care of today's business. Feed the pets, cook the food, meet the appointments, talk to each other. All you need to do today is what needs to be done today.
Silence does not equal strength. Each of you, feel what you feel, don't try to keep it in or hide it from each other. Together you can work through the pain of loss.
Be open to accepting help where it is offered. It can be a comfort to you and to your helpers.
I hope you and your family will find comfort with happy memories of your father. I don't know that grief actually ends, but it becomes bearable and finally part of your memories. Best wishes to you and yours.
Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.
I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.
As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out. Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.
you should put contact details somewhere if people want to offer their help privately.
Straight up, it's the hardest thing you'll probably have to do. It'll be really fucking hard, but with luck, you'll figure it out a new ay forward. Getting through the 'waves' of emotion and disbelief will be the most frustrating part at first. At the time my dad died I was working on private pilot's license and the most comforting thing I found was the consolations of aerodynamics, specifically the positive dynamic stability of a Cessna 172N aircraft.
Perhaps what helped me get through my dad's death will help you. So I give you...
Better Living Through Positive Dynamic Stability
"Dynamic stability is how an airplane responds over time to a disturbance. Aircraft with positive dynamic stability have oscillations that dampen out over time. The Cessna 172 is a great example. If your 172 is trimmed for level flight, and you pull back on the yoke [causing the plane to pitch upwards] and then let go, the nose will immediately start pitching down. Depending on how much you pitched up initially, the nose will pitch down slightly nose low, and then, over time, pitch nose up again, but less than your initial control input. Over time, the pitching will stop, and your 172 will be back to its original attitude." [0]
What's happened in your life is a lot like the aircraft above, except that instead of lightly pitching up, you've hit a strong disturbance and your aircraft has dramatically and unexpectedly changed its pitch upward, which has then caused your aircraft to in turn dramatically pitch downward. Your aircraft is now hurdling towards the earth, before it picking up enough airspeed to start pitching back up again. After pitching back up, the aircraft starts to lose airspeed and then it starts pitching back down again, hurdling back towards the earth, then it's pitches back up. Up and down and up and down through this harrowing oscillation. It's a crazy, stressful rollercoaster.
While aircraft is going through these oscillation and seems out of control, the oscillations are just the result of the positive dynamic stability of the aircraft. You may not notice it initially, but the oscillations are dampening slightly each time. Over time pitching will stop and your aircraft will go back to it's initially attitude. This is what you must trust in, the positive dynamic stability of your aircraft (you).
Eventually, you'll be flying straight and level again and along your intended path. Yes, you'll be shaken up by what's happened and you won't ever be the same again. But you'll have survived... that which you already knew was bound to happen at some point at some time. This is was always part of the deal. Just remember you're still flying and you've got places to be and great things to see, and you're going to be ok.
[0] http://www.boldmethod.com/learn-to-fly/aerodynamics/3-types-...