The Bittersweet Symphony of Grief
Melissa St. Clair
“My dad died.” “MY dad died.” “My Dad died?” I say it over and over in my head. First as a statement, then as a question. It’s like I’m constantly checking in with myself and the universe to confirm that yes in fact, my dad died. Then the wave of realizations of things that were and things that will never be sets in. Images of our life together as father and daughter flash one after another, faster and faster until I melt into a puddle of sadness. But it’s more than sadness, it’s grief.
Grief is like a warm dark hug that feels so good. Grief pulls you in close and makes it so painful to let go. It’s wanting to listen to those songs that you know will bring you to wailing but being scared to listen to those songs because they will certainly bring you to wailing. Its the yin-yang of celebrating everything you had and mourning all that you’ve lost. How do you rejoice in having an angel when you want to physically be with them just one more time? You’re left begging for one more conversation. One more hug. Just one more.
In the first few weeks after my dads passing I kept waiting for someone to assure me that it gets better or easier but nobody did. I heard that I will cry less one day but it’s never not going to be sad. That as long as we love our person we will miss them. Before this I had never experienced such gut wrenching heartache. It just hurts in a way that’s all consuming. I could easily drown in it, except my dad asked me not to. As he lay dying he apologized for what he was about to put me through but asked that I find strength. That I make sure I get back to my life. I didn’t quite know what he meant when he said it but man have those words replayed over and over for me. Hearing my dads voice asking me to please be ok is what keeps me going most days. Not wanting to disappoint him is a bigger motivation than anything I can say to get myself out of bed most mornings. And some days I can’t. I can’t do anything but miss him. I know he understands so I ask him for strength. He always delivers.
The wound is still so raw and I suspect it will be for a long time. I don’t put bandaids on it though. I don’t try to speed the healing process. I check in to make sure I’m not drowning in sorrow but I also feel every last feeling as it happens. A good friend reminded me not to mix up the grief with everything else. That was lifesaving advice after a few episodes of downward spiraling. I can’t let it overwhelm me. I have to honor the grief by finding it it’s own space. Right now grief gets a big space in my heart. It gets almost everything I’ve got. I have to focus to take care of myself so I can properly go through this process. The days I’m spiraling I’m not mourning, Im drowning. When I’m drowning it leaves no time to celebrate the life my dad and I shared. I have been given stacks of books on loss by the sweetest of people who know it’ll be some time before I can really read them. I’m not there yet. Right now I focus on feeding myself each day and finding the right amount of sleep.
One of the most profound lessons about my fathers quick illness and untimely death taught me about really living in the moment. Not rushing anything. There’s nothing but now. It’s something I’ve practiced my entire life and have been challenged by constantly. So I stay present knowing that it won’t be this way forever. For now though, I absorb every tiny moment of pain throughout every cell in my body. I listen to the songs and look at the pictures. I sob until the bags under my eyes are raw. I tell everyone, including the Starbucks barista, that I’m sad my dad is not here on earth with me anymore. Missing him just hurts so deeply but I embrace it.
Today I live with grief taking up all the space in my heart. However there is no rush to heal. Living in the moment has made me realize we actually now have forever together in a way we didn’t before. This is our new journey that will carry me all the rest of my days on earth. I will take the time to be present and cultivate the love in me that only my dad could help grow. We will strengthen our relationship even in the afterlife. In turn, all that love will pour into others. Nothing is over. We have this moment and eternity.
Dad I love you so much. I thank you for everything and appreciate you forever.
