The Words I Never Said at My Father’s Funeral — And How POP Workshop Helped Me Say Them

My name is Rachel. I’m 41 this year. I’m a teacher by profession, a mother of two, and a daughter who never really got to say goodbye.

My father passed away three years ago. Sudden heart failure. He was 71. One moment, he was grumbling about the HDB lift taking too long — the next, he was gone.

At the funeral, I stood by the photo of him in his army uniform and smiled politely at guests. I shook hands, served tea, and answered logistics questions. Everyone said, “You’re very strong,” and I nodded like a good daughter should.

But inside, I felt frozen.

Because the truth was, I didn’t cry at his funeral. Not because I wasn’t sad. But because… I didn’t know how.

The Father I Feared and Missed

My father was a quiet man. Stern, old-school. Never said “I love you.” Rarely said “Well done.” When I brought home a B+, he’d ask, “Why not A?”

He wasn’t cruel — just... distant. I spent most of my childhood trying to earn his approval. When I started working, I thought, “Maybe now he’ll be proud.”

He wasn’t.

And yet, when he died, I felt something rip through me. Not grief exactly. But something deeper. Like regret mixed with longing, mixed with… silence.

I kept moving. Took care of Mum. Focused on my kids. Taught classes. Ticked all the boxes.

But the heaviness never left.

A Friend’s Invitation I Almost Declined

Earlier this year, a colleague invited me to attend something called the POP Workshop.

I said, “I’m not into self-help stuff.” She replied, “Neither was I. But it’s not self-help. It’s more like… self-hearing.”

That phrase stuck with me.

So I signed up. Just one weekend, I told myself. If I hate it, I can leave early.

I didn’t leave.

When the Past Catches Up—Gently

There was no dramatic music. No gurus. No fixing.

At the POP Workshop, we were asked simple questions. But somehow, they unraveled things in me I didn’t know were still raw.

One session focused on conversations you never got to have.

I chose my father.

That was the first time I cried for him.

Not because I had to. But because I finally could.

What Shifted After the POP Workshop

I didn’t change careers or write a book. Life continued. But I started talking about my father again — not just what he did wrong, but what he did right.

I told my son, “Your grandfather used to wake at 5 am every day to pack our lunch.” I told my daughter, “He wasn’t perfect, but he taught me to show up.”

And now, when I visit his niche, I don’t just stare silently. I speak. I tell him how the kids are doing. I tell him I’m okay.

What I Learned

Grief isn’t about crying at the “right” time. It’s about permitting yourself to feel, even if it’s years later.

And the POP Workshop didn’t give me closure. It gave me access. To words I never said. To love, I never expressed. To peace, I never allowed myself to feel.

If you're carrying something that feels too old to matter, or too small to justify, please know this:

Unspoken words don’t disappear. They wait. And sometimes, all it takes is the right moment… and the right room… to let them out.

That’s what the POP Workshop was for me. And I’m thankful I stayed until the end.