My Last Thought To My Dead Dad: 'How Could You Leave Me Here With These Assholes?’

And why anger isn’t a stage with a defined beginning or end.

Photo by Simran Sood on Unsplash

The thought surprised me when I had it, sobbing over Dad’s body in the ICU room. ‘How could you leave me here with all these assholes?’. It’s not really something you think will crop up in the moment, but I was angry at him for leaving me behind.

I wished I was more gentle or graceful, but those have never been my strengths. So, the thought lingered and the beats of anger throbbed deep in my chest.

It should have passed, if you believe the ‘stages’ of grief are real. But they weren’t for me.

The anger hasn’t subsided after 4 years.

And it revisits in unpredictable waves in darker moments when I feel particularly alone.

Why the anger keeps resurfacing

Anger is a boundary emotion, and flares up when:

• Our values or boundaries have been transgressed

• Something feels unsafe, intrusive or unjust

• You’re expected to tolerate more than you have resources for

It appears when we lose our sense of agency, like not choosing the situation (i.e. someone died), we can’t easily change things (i.e. we couldn’t reconnect with someone gone), or we’re absorbing consequences that aren’t ours (i.e. trying to cover financial overheads related to loss).

And it isn’t just reactive to an event or trigger. We brace ourselves because we’re preparing for potential danger or overload. I catch myself filtering calls from mum when I’m nervous about another fight we’ll end up in.

Stomach in knots, shoulders tensing up and heat flushing across my face. I’m already armoured up with curt responses before anyone says a thing.

We stay vigilant and scan for what might go wrong in our environment. I design escape routes for family events, mapping how to leave before things get overwhelming.

Anger motivates us to pay attention and protect ourselves.

But when it’s not allowed, named or explored, it persists and appears when there’s a gap between how things are and how things shouldn’t have to be.

That’s how it resurfaces for me. Dad was the glue for our family. He softened the edges to the stark family differences I have and made me feel seen and understood in only the way he could.

I still miss that deeply and when I’m reminded that’s gone, the anger rises and still disarms me. That protective buffer is gone, and I’ve still not figured out how best to replace or reassert it.

When the conditions don’t change, the emotion doesn’t either.

So now, it looks like bracing before family calls or events. Being careful about when and how I communicate with people Dad used to buffer. And trying not to close myself off from new opportunities for connection and trust.

Anger is a signal, not failure

In most cultures, we’re told to keep our anger at bay. Keep calm and carry on. Or that anger is a grief stage we work through and then it’s done. But does this framing really help?

From the people I talk to - when sat across coffee tables, sending WhatsApp messages or chatting on the sofa - I know that’s BS. Anger persists. It’s raw.

And every single one of them have some version of: “I thought I’d be over this by now, but I just can’t let it go.”

So, anger signals what matters to us, not that we’re a failure.

Anger, when it’s acknowledged and channelled, becomes fuel. It tells you where your boundaries are. It shows you what you’re not willing to tolerate anymore. That’s not dangerous. That’s clarity.

So it's not something to fear or suppress but rather lean on and use wisely. It doesn't mean you didn’t love someone enough, or in the right way. Or that the grief is stuck and can’t be shifted.

It means something isn’t working and we need to do something stabilising about it.

Use anger to motivate, not beat yourself up

If you recognise anger flaring up after loss, don’t use it as a stick to beat yourself up. Don't make yourself small or feel shame for getting angry about a situation or circumstance you’re in.

Get curious instead.

Tune into what your anger is trying to signal to you. Lean into what’s unfinished or missing from your current situation that needs stability.

For me, anger is signalling how to build family stability without Dad in the picture. And accepting something harder: I won’t be the person they want or need me to be. And that’s OK.

Sure, the anger still bubbles in the background, because Dad’s never coming back. But I’m learning to protect myself without him. And that’s not failure, but survival.

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P.S. If you’re unsure how to explore your anger or other emotions, check out my self-guided workshop Navigating Grief With Compassion. I have a whole section about noticing and naming emotions for when the waves hit.