What Grief Looks Like After Losing My Dad

This year has been the hardest year of my life. I chose to share my journey here on World Pulse because this community has been part of my life since 2021. I joined on January 12, my birthday, never imagining how much I would one day need this space.

On July 7 this year, I lost my dad. My life turned upside down. This was not how I expected to spend the year.

As I’ve shared in earlier posts, the weeks that followed were heavy; mentally, emotionally, physically. I am currently on antidepressants, anxiety medication, sleeping pills, and laxatives.

After spending nearly two weeks admitted at Nairobi Hospital in November, I was discharged and returned to my apartment. That’s when the reality of my loss hit me all over again.

I lasted one day.

The next day, a Saturday, the grief became unbearable. I missed my dad so deeply that I couldn’t cope. I overdosed on the sleeping pills in an attempt to end my life. Before that, I called Nairobi Hospital and said, “You discharged me yesterday, and I’ve just overdosed on the medication you sent me home with.” I then called an Uber to take me to the hospital.

I woke up the following day, Sunday, in HDU, surrounded by nurses and machines monitoring my vitals. I had attempted to end my life.

My dad was everything to me. I often say he was my best friend—and he truly was. My confidant. My cheerleader. My safe place. I miss the man he was: his kindness, his humor, his laughter, his generosity, his work ethic. These are the things he taught me. These are the standards I carry with me. I find myself comparing every man I meet to him.

This year has forced me to confront grief in a way I didn’t allow myself to before.

When my dad passed, I didn’t really grieve. I didn't believe it was happening. It was too much loss.

I went back to work after just one week. I pushed through, but I was struggling mentally, physically, emotionally. I broke down at work several times. I wasn’t okay.

Now, I find myself apologizing to people for moments when I wasn’t myself, when I didn’t seem okay. And I ask myself should I? This time, I chose to allow myself to grieve.

With therapy and psychiatric support, I’m now able to visit my dad’s resting place. I take care of it. I brought flowers last weekend. It still feels like a void an emptiness that hasn’t been filled.

I am a writer. Thank you for the nudge, World Pulse. I will keep writing about my dad, about my journey, about the most vulnerable parts of my loss and my struggle.

Because what better way to write than to speak about the man who shaped me, the grief that broke me open, and the healing I am still learning to live with?

Daddy, I miss you. I love you. Always.

Mendy.