The Dead Dad Club

It reminds me of a time in an old job of mine. There was a girl, a colleague of mine, let’s call her Sandra. We never had much to do with one another except that we joined the company at around the same time and exchanged the odd small talk in the kitchen. She seemed lovely, we just never had anything in common and we never worked on the same jobs.

Until one day, trailing behind a group of people from the office on our way to after-work pints, we got talking. Somehow the conversation drifted towards family. She mentioned that her dad had passed and that it’s difficult for people to get. I told her that my dad had also passed a few years ago.

And there it was. We were no longer colleagues; we were now fellow members of the Dead Dads Club. A secret society of bereaved children who will instantly bond over learning of the other’s membership. Everything became easier — the flow of conversation, the topics we talked about. We ended up spending most of the night talking and from then on, no more small talk. We were friends now because our dads were dead.

I know. The link between having a dead dad and an abortion is tenuous. But what I think connects the two is the privacy of it all. Coming out to people with something so private that it almost defines you. And finding companionship and strength in the bosom of others who have experienced what you have experienced.

I put this thought to my friend. Does she believe a person needs to have gone through this huge ordeal in order to firmly associate with it? Am I unqualified to comment?