I'm giving you fair warning: it's about to get very real and vulnerable around here. I hate writing blog posts when things aren't already tied up into beautiful bows for the three of you who read this blog. :-) While I'm generally a pretty open person, there are some parts of my heart that I just don't like sharing. Tonight, though, I was talking with some friends and one of them said it was helpful to hear someone articulate what he/she was feeling in the midst of grief to help understand what was happening. So, this is me being honest and telling you the best I can about how I feel.
Tomorrow is the 12th anniversary of my dad's death. Having done this 11 times before, I have certain expectations about tomorrow. I made the mistake of assuming that I had a grasp on how I would probably feel and what it would probably look like. Then, like it always does, grief surprised me.
I never expected the 12th anniversary to be immeasurably more difficult than years 1-11. But it is.
It started early this year. On Monday I almost lost it at work trying to think of a place my dad would like to eat in Norman. Grief never starts that early for me. On Tuesday, I was trying to remember what color my dad's eyes were and I couldn't. I also did the math: as of Monday, I'll have spent 39.5% of my life without my dad. And that's hard. Today, it felt like a semi had crashed into me while I sat in church. I thought, "I can't say I miss him. That isn't it. My heart just aches."
As I get older, I mourn for the things I've lost and the things I miss about him. At the same time, my heart breaks even more for the future I don't have with him. 12 Christmases, 12 of every holiday, 2 graduations, 2 cities, countless friends, several jobs, and all sorts of dreams he has missed out on. When I get married, I don't get a daddy/daughter dance or the chance to have my dad grill my husband and then give his blessing for our marriage. My kids will only know their granddad through what I, and others, tell them. Those pieces missing from my future hurt.
At some point I realized what makes this year so exceptionally difficult. This year I realized my memories are getting fuzzier. This year I'm more attuned to the details I'm forgetting. People tell me stories of events I should remember and I either can't remember or have but the faintest memory. I'm forgetting what he smelled like. I can't remember what it was like for him to hug me. Of course I remember so many things. I remember his embarrassingly loud laugh in the movies. I remember the silly grin he got on his face as he tickled me mercilessly. I remember how he wanted to get a yellow truck, but there was a certain yellow it had to be and I never could understand that yellow.
I feel guilty for what I don't remember. I know it isn't true, but it feels like maybe I didn't love him enough or spend enough time with him. I also feel guilty for how normal life feels without him. I feel guilty for how normal it feels for him to be absent on Christmas. I feel guilty for forgetting his birthday. I feel guilty when I realize I've gone for several days or weeks without thinking of him (which hasn't happened recently).
But then God reminds of what my dad was like. He reminds me of what my dad would say to me if he was around. My dad would tell me to quit feeling guilty and that he was proud of my family and me for living and embracing life. He'd tell me it's okay that some of the memories are fuzzy because my mind is filled with new memories. He'd tell me that I remember the important things and my ability to remember his eye color (which was brown or hazel, depending on the picture) had nothing to do with how much I loved him. He'd agree it was too short of a time, but remind me that even 100 years wouldn't have been enough. Above all else, he'd remind me that this is a very temporary, though very real, pain. He'd tell me how amazing Heaven is and to be comforted by the thought of being with him again. He'd tell me to lean on the Great Comforter and surround myself with people I love.
So, I choose to do that. Don't get me wrong: grief sucks and it is unfair. However, I chose hope over despair. I choose peace over anxiety. I choose joy in the midst of pain. While I feel grief and pain deeply, I choose to remember the hope of future glory. I choose trust instead of blaming. I choose to remind myself and believe in God's goodness and kindness instead of hurling accusations towards him. Above all else, I choose rest- resting in the truth of who God is and that He works all things together for my good and for His glory.
Hey, look, some neat little bows did come out of this! :-)
Tomorrow is the 12th anniversary of my dad's death. Having done this 11 times before, I have certain expectations about tomorrow. I made the mistake of assuming that I had a grasp on how I would probably feel and what it would probably look like. Then, like it always does, grief surprised me.
I never expected the 12th anniversary to be immeasurably more difficult than years 1-11. But it is.
It started early this year. On Monday I almost lost it at work trying to think of a place my dad would like to eat in Norman. Grief never starts that early for me. On Tuesday, I was trying to remember what color my dad's eyes were and I couldn't. I also did the math: as of Monday, I'll have spent 39.5% of my life without my dad. And that's hard. Today, it felt like a semi had crashed into me while I sat in church. I thought, "I can't say I miss him. That isn't it. My heart just aches."
As I get older, I mourn for the things I've lost and the things I miss about him. At the same time, my heart breaks even more for the future I don't have with him. 12 Christmases, 12 of every holiday, 2 graduations, 2 cities, countless friends, several jobs, and all sorts of dreams he has missed out on. When I get married, I don't get a daddy/daughter dance or the chance to have my dad grill my husband and then give his blessing for our marriage. My kids will only know their granddad through what I, and others, tell them. Those pieces missing from my future hurt.
At some point I realized what makes this year so exceptionally difficult. This year I realized my memories are getting fuzzier. This year I'm more attuned to the details I'm forgetting. People tell me stories of events I should remember and I either can't remember or have but the faintest memory. I'm forgetting what he smelled like. I can't remember what it was like for him to hug me. Of course I remember so many things. I remember his embarrassingly loud laugh in the movies. I remember the silly grin he got on his face as he tickled me mercilessly. I remember how he wanted to get a yellow truck, but there was a certain yellow it had to be and I never could understand that yellow.
I feel guilty for what I don't remember. I know it isn't true, but it feels like maybe I didn't love him enough or spend enough time with him. I also feel guilty for how normal life feels without him. I feel guilty for how normal it feels for him to be absent on Christmas. I feel guilty for forgetting his birthday. I feel guilty when I realize I've gone for several days or weeks without thinking of him (which hasn't happened recently).
But then God reminds of what my dad was like. He reminds me of what my dad would say to me if he was around. My dad would tell me to quit feeling guilty and that he was proud of my family and me for living and embracing life. He'd tell me it's okay that some of the memories are fuzzy because my mind is filled with new memories. He'd tell me that I remember the important things and my ability to remember his eye color (which was brown or hazel, depending on the picture) had nothing to do with how much I loved him. He'd agree it was too short of a time, but remind me that even 100 years wouldn't have been enough. Above all else, he'd remind me that this is a very temporary, though very real, pain. He'd tell me how amazing Heaven is and to be comforted by the thought of being with him again. He'd tell me to lean on the Great Comforter and surround myself with people I love.
So, I choose to do that. Don't get me wrong: grief sucks and it is unfair. However, I chose hope over despair. I choose peace over anxiety. I choose joy in the midst of pain. While I feel grief and pain deeply, I choose to remember the hope of future glory. I choose trust instead of blaming. I choose to remind myself and believe in God's goodness and kindness instead of hurling accusations towards him. Above all else, I choose rest- resting in the truth of who God is and that He works all things together for my good and for His glory.
Hey, look, some neat little bows did come out of this! :-)
Leah, thank you for putting into words some things that I've been unable to articulate.
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