……..part two

This drenched feeling lasted for days and days and days. (If you haven’t read Part One you might want to so that this all makes sense.)

In the course of 3 days, my Uncle Alan passed away, we celebrated Father’s Day bringing my dad to the forefront of my mind, and we had to say goodbye to one of our beloved dogs. There were giant boulders of grief ricocheting off of every surface. I found myself plodding through life feeling as though my glasses were smudged and I couldn’t get them clean.

My dad passed away 4 years ago and in the time since then, I’ve learned a lot about grief. I have lost people close to me, pets that I adored, friendships that slid off a cliff, experienced the grief of a parent watching a child go through something we can’t fix…but I had never experienced grief that knocked me off my feet again and again.

My dad and I were very close. It may sound strange but, we still are. I am the youngest child by a decade and the only girl. By the time I was 8, I was the only child still living at home. My parents had worn thin raising my brothers (haha!) and were not fond of confrontation by the time I was feeling confrontational. We argued some when I was in high school and I was unfair to them on a number of occasions that I wish I could forget but, despite those times, we emerged from my teenage years with a close, healthy, loving relationship. 

The greatest thing my parents ever did for me was to love me just as I am. They may disagree with me but they do not judge. They respect me as an adult and respect my marriage as sacred. The older I get the more I realize what a selfless gift that is. Even though my dad no longer walks the earth holding my arm, he is still giving me that gift each and every day.

The last three years of my father’s life were challenging to say the least. I didn’t want to admit it but, we were saying goodbye to him for a long time. His death was a blessing for all of us, especially him. Nonetheless, the moment he passed still hit me like a grenade. I wasn’t ready. Not by a long shot.

I was wallowing in that intense grief. Our family received support and words of love and kindness from every direction. Nothing softened the edges. I felt like I couldn’t get a full breath. It was almost claustrophobic.

Two wise friends gave me some much needed perspective.

The first friend told me that it never gets easy but it does get easier. That was a relief. Just knowing that the relentless waves higher than my head would eventually taper off to my shoulders, then to my knees and then to gentle seas lapping at my ankles was a comfort to my soul.

The second friend told me that grief is a gift. I looked at her like she was crazy. She saw the look and put her hand on my arm. She said that in order to have immense grief there must first be immense love. She reminded me how precious the love of a good parent is. How incredibly lucky I am to have had Felix as my father. I felt so guilty and so very selfish for focusing only on my own feelings. She saw that too and urged me to give myself some grace.

As much as talking, reminiscing, telling stories, writing (apparently 🙂), and sharing with those close to you are essential in the healing process, grace is an absolute must in the march on the grief trail. It is a must in any situation. Life is hard. Being a grownup sucks sometimes. Most of us are doing the best we can. Falling down and getting up. Making mistakes and feeling too ashamed or stubborn to apologize. Setting unachievable expectations higher than the rafters. We all need to cut ourselves some slack and stop comparing ourselves to anyone else. Enter grace….

Robert, our three girls and I surrounded our Border Terrier Callie as she took her last breath. We stroked her brown fur and told her how much we love her and what a good girl she is. The waves filled the little room to the ceiling. At that moment we all felt as though we would never see the floor. But we will. Grief will stop the temper tantrum, get in the back seat and buckle up like an obedient child. It is always there…not as a threat but as a gift.

A reminder that our lives are full of extraordinary beings worthy of our grief.