Loss Changes You
Wise Words from Lauren London
Since last summer, I have been trying to find a way to articulate the way losing my father changed me.
Three weeks before I moved in for my freshman year of college, I found my father stroking on the steps. I heard a loud thud, like things were falling downstairs. Truthfully, I thought someone had broken into our home. I reassured myself that my dad was downstairs and would fight whoever it was. But when I heard a struggle, I got out of bed and peeked over the banister. Someone hadn’t broken in. My dad was struggling to make his way to the bathroom.
I ran quietly down the stairs and got him to the bottom steps, where I pleaded for him not to move. I ran to my mom’s room, trying not to wake my brother or sister. “Somethings wrong with dad.” We made our way down, waking my brother and sister. After examining him quickly, my mom determined he had another stroke.
I tell everyone I lost my father twice. The night I found him stroking and on December 18, 2020. I didn’t know the day before I found my dad stroking was the last time I would have a coherent conversation with him filled with laughter and comfort. That night my mom became a single parent, and I lost my dad.
On December 18, 2020, my dad passed. I was getting a facial when my uncle, sister, and mom tried to call me. I didn’t cry. I had been slowly accepting that he was in transition, as for weeks, doctors were telling us it was just a matter of time.
Losing my dad changed me. Both times.
When I lost him the night of the stroke, I grew angry. Hardening my heart towards him because of everything I learned the night of the stroke and weeks after. I moved into my dorm without my dad. I looked through the hall and saw all the girls with their dads, but mine was in the hospital. I went through my first breakup without him. I went through my first experience with infidelity without him. I was going through life without my dad while staring at his shell (I wrote an essay about this in college). I had never been so angry with someone until I lost my dad.
When he left this earth on December 18, 2020, I felt a wave of emotions - peace, resolve, numbness, zombie-ish. I wasn’t angry anymore. Me and my counselor at the time had begun working through that anger. He helped me realize I was angry because I still loved him and wished I had my dad back.
On December 31, 2020, I delivered my dad’s obituary. A moment I’ll never forget. Because as the words fell from my tongue, I felt the sting of finality. But I pushed down and pushed through like I had taught myself for years.
Losing my dad at a young age (metaphorically on the staircase at 17 and literally at 22) gave me a different outlook on life. It taught me that parenting was about action more than creation. It showed me that our time is not infinite or unlimited. It taught me to give people their flowers while they’re still here. It made me more compassionate, understanding, and empathetic to everyone’s story. Losing my dad made me realize what I want my legacy to be in this world, and it’s not financial or materialistic. Losing my dad made me realize that you never know when your interaction with someone will be the last, so make it intentional and one you’ll never regret.
It’s been hard to explain how losing my dad has changed my outlook on life. All last summer, I spent trying to help my ex-best friend understand how much losing my dad had changed me, what I want to be known for, and how I want to treat others. Losing a parent at a young age has been isolating because very few can comprehend how the grief you live with guides your choices. Very few understand it’s not something you can overcome, but you grow with it and learn to grow your life around it.
It’s been challenging to explain that losing my dad has made me fear finite commitments like marriage because I’m not ready to face the grief that comes with preparing for milestones that he’ll never be a part of. It’s been challenging connecting with the male figures in my life because a part of me is subconsciously aware that they’ll never be who my dad was for me. It’s been hard opening up to friends and family the way I used to open up to my dad because they don’t have the mellifluous voice that soothes the sharpest of anxiety. It’s been challenging to explain that a part of him still lives in me, and I want to honor that. I want to carry his best traits of him with me - into my interactions, into my work, and into my relationships.
This podcast episode featuring Lauren London helped me understand my relationship with loss and put words to feelings/perspectives I struggled to explain to those in my life.
To be completely transparent, I am a Lauren London STAN. I’ve loved her since her “New New” role in ATL and her role in This Christmas. But more importantly, I loved her general disposition as an actor in Hollywood because I never felt she was an actor that got caught up in the Hollywood phenomenon and drama. She stayed true to herself and her longtime partner, Nipsey Hussle.
Beyond my general love for Lauren London’s character, demeanor, fashion sense, and beauty style, she comes with much wisdom, all of which came out in this podcast episode.
She opens the episode by admitting that she’s coming to this interview from a new space. She wants it to be a safe space and intentional when she talks to people now. From that opening, I was hooked. I couldn’t resonate more.
My dad was known as Mr. Mac in my childhood neighborhood. He mentored many young, Black males growing up in the area. Parents trusted that if the boys said they were at Mr. Mac’s, they were safe and cared for (that wasn’t just my dad’s doing, though, gotta give some credit to my mom). For many kids, he was a safe space for intentional conversations about whatever. He saved many kids’ lives in those conversations, including my high school best friend’s.
That’s the mindset I operate in now that he’s gone. I want those who know me to be able to experience a safe space with intention. Since he left, I've realized I desire people’s experiences with me to be brave, safe, and intentional. And it’s true what they say in the podcast; we live in a world where that kind of space is hard to come by because everyone is talking. No one is holding space for anyone anymore, and there’s something magical about holding space for people.
“I always say the front row at the funeral looks different.”
Sitting in the front row at the funeral is different. It changes your perspective on death. I learned that life was short in the front row. I learned that relationships matter more than anything else in the front row. I learned that the only things that stay when you go are how you affected those you touched and interacted with. Everyone’s timing is different, and that is a gift.
“My judgment of them was my judgment of myself. It was really my harsh judgment of myself. I didn’t give myself no slack.”
One thing I constantly heard from those my dad mentored and nurtured was the judgment-free, shame-free space he provided. I used to be SO judgmental. But I learned through grief and the experience of losing my father that my judgment of others had nothing to do with them. I missed the judgment-free space my dad provided me. And I searched for that in college but learned it needed to start with me. Since, I’ve cut myself and others slack and embraced judgment-free relationships cause they encourage compassion and grace for all.
“What does life look like for me now? You’re in the rebirth now.”
I was re-birthed after my dad got sick and my dad passed. My family was re-birthed. Our roles changed. My understanding of self changed. It wasn’t until my current counselor pointed this out that this hit differently.
“I think a lot of them are ego driven and not pure.”
When my father passed, I remember feeling like everyone had this entitlement toward him and the loss. I received text messages from distant family and old friends because it had made it to Facebook before my mom, siblings, and I were ready to announce it. It was almost like some competed with others - who meant the most to him, cared about him the most, and knew him the best. Losing my dad helped me realize he was on lease to us to experience. Known of us had any more entitlement to him than another because the person he belonged to had finally called him home. And my experience with my dad didn’t have to negate others because he uplifted them differently.
I apply that (or try to apply that) to all relationships moving forward now. I do not own them. I think the “my” in “my best friend,” “my daughter,” and “my boyfriend” gives each of us confidence that people are ours - like property. No. These relationships are blessings for us to experience until it's decided they are no longer ours to experience. Even marriage, our life-long partners, are ours to experience. Death teaches us that even the things we label ours, like husbands and fathers, are ultimately not our possessions but rather our experiences.
This podcast helped me articulate my perspective on life after losing my dad. It put words to ideas and feelings that I couldn’t quite articulate to those in my life. I hope you listen because this episode is full of gems for those navigating their grief after burial. For those trying to understand a loved one now that they are ready for re-connection, this podcast might help you enter a place of grace and understanding.