Grief is a long valley

reflections on the recent loss of my dad

Have you experienced the loss of a parent or close loved one?

My dad passed away unexpectedly this month.

If your heart is heavy because of loss today, I’d like to encourage you with this:

You aren’t alone. My heart is heavy, too.

*

After you died, I kept wanting to say it. Needed to say it. As if saying the words made it truer, made me believe:

“My dad died today.”

Over and over I had to say it.

And then when I leaned over your body resting under the white sheet, smooth skin, like my dad but not like my dad, I had to tell myself again:

“This is real.”

The new reality of vacancy.

Waking up to remember again: This is happening. This is real.

My dad died today. On the 2^nd of September.

While I looked out over lapping waves hundreds of miles away, you sat down, took your gloves off, leaned back, and said okay. It’s time. It’s my turn.

Did you see the light?

Did you see your loved ones?

Were you ready?

Was God there?

*

I imagine you were ready.

I imagine God was there.

The last time I saw you, there was an air of the eternal about you. You seemed different.

“Going inward” is how hospice puts it (this I learned from sitting with the dying).

Like you were ready for something. Waiting for what’s next.

“You have to go home to see Dad,” I told my brother. I was worried.

Something told me to worry—though I didn’t know about what.

I wasn’t ready. Wasn’t ready. Wasn’t ready.

*

In the moments and hours following my dad’s death, there was a light rain of memories that came to mind. Good memories. Shooting hoops. Dancing across the kitchen. Lunches. Dinners. Setting the table. Strumming guitars. Playing a song for him. Waiting to hear “I’m proud.” Seeing the pride in his eyes. All I ever wanted was to make him proud of me.

Then opening to a bigger picture: Wondering if everyone he has ever known is flooded with these memories, these joyful moments, these glints of love, these winks eternal: how big this movement of good, of love, in his passing across a sliver of the world.

“My dad died today.”

And I wore his Harley t-shirt and I sobbed when I heard that Eagles song and I woke up to the sound of tapping—wake up, I’m still here, you whispered to my soul.

Suddenly, there is a space at the table, in your favorite room, in the driveway, on your bike, in the closet, an emptiness.

Suddenly, there are things that were here when you were here: a balloon, a drink, an appointment.

Suddenly, I wonder if you were ever here at all because as full as life felt with you in it, despite the complicated relationship we had at times, emptiness lingers.

Like my heart is carved out. Sunken.

One more day.

If I had one more day, I’d call you or hop on a plane and tell you that I love you.

I’d tell you I’m angry, too. Angry that I wasn’t there.

You know that angry.

You know that sad.

You know that space.

The last time I saw you, you reached out your hand and touched my arm with the slightest pressure.

Nurture.

I want to collapse into that brush of your hand.

The ache of decades.

My children running into you in the hall, hugging your knees like we used to. Your smile, content. Your heart, full. Your soul, ready. Waiting.

*

Grief ebbs and flows, I remind myself.

I search “grief quotes” and of course, there is one by C.S. Lewis:

Grief is like a long valley, a winding alley where any bend may reveal a totally new landscape.

My grief is a tunnel in South Dakota.

It is the smell of leather, gun powder, old spice.

The sound of a bike pulling into the garage.

Gun shots echoing.

Toes and tips of noses cold from opening morning.

Frost on beards.

A bell ringing.

The lines to Drift Away.

*

There is an ache in the loss of a father that is indescribable.

Have you experienced a loss like this? Maybe you are in this season now?

This season for me was unexpected, yet at the same time, I knew it was going to happen someday. Maybe we are never fully ready for that someday to be today. But what can we do now and today is remember.

The good, the true, the holy.

I think there is a reason why when someone passes away into the next season beyond this temporal one, loved ones are left to reminisce about the good. It’s not because it was all good or our loved one was perfect. I think our minds and hearts hold on to the good because that’s what matters.

Love is all.

*

My dad was an adventurous, kind, smart, talented, and loving man and I will miss him every day until we meet again. On that day, I will tell him again.  

If you are struggling with loss, reach out for support.

If you aren’t sure where to look, message me and I’ll connect you with resources in your area.

We never have to do life alone.