In many ways, it feels like yesterday when my legs gave way, and I collapsed to the cold, hard ground when I heard the news that he was gone. Gone. How is that even possible? We are all going to the same place. My dad just beat me there.
Over the years, I have written about my journey: challenges, phases, motherhood, partnership, relationships, and teaching. Loss is now a part of my story. The reason it’s so important to touch on this topic is because grief, at some point or another, greets all of us. Each of us, on this beautiful adventure we call life, encounters loss and pain. Grief is like a fingerprint – unique to each of us. There is no right way or wrong way to grieve, but there are lessons one will learn in the process.
I’ve learned that..
Grief is a dimension I’d never known about, and sometimes, I wouldn’t mind not knowing about it. Grief arrives when you lose someone you weren’t ready to lose. You don’t have to experience grief with a loss; however, you can only avoid it by avoiding love. Love and grief are intertwined. The depth in which you grieve is directly related to the magnitude of your love for the person you lost. Grief is lonely. It doesn’t end. It’s something someone gets through; we become bigger, and we learn to include it inside ourselves, to hold it, to expand around it, rather than getting through it, and that takes time.
I’ve learned that..
Pain and loss are not unique; people around us are hurting. You don’t have to look far to see heartbreak and loss written across someone’s face. The days after my dad died, I went to school because it turns out that when someone dies, life still goes on. Moments felt suffocating. The lights were blinding, and the noise unbearable. I felt exposed – like everyone saw that my dad was dead and that my entire world had just shattered. I had a humbling realization. How many times in life have I stood right next to someone who is experiencing tremendous pain? What has their day been like? Did they get fired? Are they fighting with a spouse? Facing divorce? Losing a friend? Grieving a loved one? I have learned not to be so quick to judge when others seem less than pleasant. And when a dear friend loses a spouse, or a parent, or a baby, or a friend, I know that the pain doesn’t fade. It remains. After a loss, it’s not what people say that you will remember; it’s how they showed up. I was asked, ‘What do you need?’ repeatedly in the first weeks. I didn’t know what I needed. I was barely getting through the day. I didn’t have a list of my needs. I didn’t think my dad was going to die. Now, I know that individuals experiencing abrupt change need compassion. That compassion creates a more acceptable environment for all of us to grieve as we were designed to.
I’ve learned that…
Grief can bring out the best and worst in a person. Part of me died in the same moments my dad’s heart stopped beating, but another part of me was born. I’ve gained a sensitivity that can zoom into someone and say, ‘I see you. I see your pain.’ I notice absence. I notice presence. I notice joy. I notice pain. I notice calm. I notice anxiety. I’ve learned that discussing complex topics is a courageous act. No one is asking for a silver lining, but everyone has the choice to show up and be a good person. I hope experiencing grief, this part of my story, will bring out the best in me. While the loss of my dad has broken the vision I once had for my children regarding fostering a relationship with their Papa, it has not broken my ability to grow and become a better version of myself.
I have learned…
Life isn’t always beautiful, but life goes on. I have come to realize that none of us has as much time as we think we do. I don’t just feel frugality, but I also feel a sense of preciousness. I want to treasure life and savor every moment of it. I no longer wish to take it for granted. I won’t waste my breaths and walk like a ghost through it. I will value life, appreciate it, hold on to it, and fight for it.
Julian Barnes, an author, wrote about love and loss in the book Levels of Life. There is a description of how emerging from the madness and loneliness of grief can be similar to a train bursting out of a tunnel into the sunlight after having been in darkness. However, you also come out of the tunnel, just as a seagull comes out of an oil slick, tarred, and feathered for life.