Adventures of the Traveling Grief Case

A journey through the emotions of grief

Dec 14th, 2018

Dear Dad,

Today I’m having a lot of emotions. My heart is feeling heavy yet full of love. I have felt anxious, sad, fearful and relieved. I’m questioning so much and have so much on my mind. I’m worrying about Isaiah and his struggles. Wondering if I have ever put too much on him without realizing it.

I’m struggling with the losses around me. I want to be a light to those around me. I want to be a source of comfort. But I also want to know how to put myself first in a nurturing way. I cannot change anyone but myself. I ask you to show Isaiah that he can always talk to me. That he can ask me for help. That he is always loved unconditionally.

What I thought it would be like

When I thought of death and losing a loved one, I pictured it like in the movies. You know those scenes where people break down? The ones where they drop to their knees, sobbing and screaming and crying for their loved ones? That’s what I pictured.

I thought for sure it would be that way. I would drop to my knees sobbing. I wouldn’t be able to eat. I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I would cry uncontrollably.

I’m sure that if my dad’s death had been an unexpected tragedy I would have reacted differently. But it wasn’t like that. I knew this was coming. I was sure I could prepare myself for it.

It wasn’t that I didn’t cry, because I did. I cried a lot in the days preceding my father’s death. But like Adiche says in her book, Notes On Grief, “You don’t know how you will grieve, until you grieve.”

No words have ever felt truer.  

The way I felt was the total opposite of what I anticipated.

What I actually felt

When I got the news that my dad passed, I didn’t drop to my knees, but instead felt relief wash over me. I felt a rush of energy. I drank a beer for dad.

When I got that call, my stomach didn’t fill with knots. I had no loss of appetite. Instead, I found every excuse to eat shitty, sugar-filled foods. I would think, I should have an Allie’s donut because those are dad’s favorite.

I stopped caring about what I put in my body. Most days I would just eat my feelings.

I had anticipated I would just drop weight when he passed.

Nope. I told myself, my dad died. I should eat this. 

When I got the news, I thought I would be up all night and not be able to sleep. Instead, I found myself coming home after work and climbing into bed, exhausted and depressed.

I just wanted to lay down, sleep and cuddle with my grief. I wanted to embrace it. Go to bed with it.

I didn’t want to be around people but sit alone with it. I expected grief to come in endless nights of tears, and sometimes it did.

I wanted to be alone with my tears and my sadness. My grief came in all these confusing and tangled-up emotions. 

What other people see

People saw me and would say how well I was handling it. How strong I was. They watched me go through my day-to-day life and assumed I was doing well. They couldn’t see the grief that was tearing me up inside.

Some days I just went through the motions. I continued my day to day. I did what I had to do.

On the inside, I felt this hole in my heart, like it had been torn out. I felt this anger every time I looked at the faces of friends whose fathers were still alive. I felt this emptiness inside like a piece of me was missing.

If people could have read my mind, they would have seen I was no longer the same person I used to be. No one knew I went home after work to climb in bed at 5:30 p.m. That I would cry myself to sleep.

No one realized how exhausted I was at the end of the day just from trying to function. From attempting to feel normal all day. Nobody knew the struggle and energy I spent trying to be the person I had been before.

They couldn’t see how angry, sad and tired I really felt.

Just from trying to BE.

I didn’t tell them.

No one realized how exhausting it was. Or how I wanted to tell the world to eff off! To stop saying they were “sorry for my loss.”

Time

Time had become finite and infinite all in one.

I would think, I can’t believe it’s only been two weeks! How can I live this way forever?

I thought, Am I going to feel like this forever? Because if so, I don’t think I can do this another day.

But I can promise you this.

I promise you that those days turn into weeks.

Those weeks turn into months.

And before you know it, you are counting the years.

Then one day, you realize how far you have come.

It’s not that you don’t miss your loved one, because you do. 

It’s not because time heals all wounds.

It’s not because grief just goes away.

It doesn’t.

one day in the future

But I promise you one day, you will find more tears of laughter in the memories of your loved one. You will look back and see how far you have come through your grief. How much you have grown.

You will find new ways to honor your loved one. Ways to connect with their spirit and memory. You will still have days when the tears overwhelm you and you miss them terribly.

But you will find more days when you smile.

You will be amazed at the strength you have gained.

You will listen to a song and laugh at the memory.

You will do something they loved and hear their voice speaking to you.

You will hear them whispering in your ear.

You will share a story of them and know that they still live on in your words and your actions, in ways that you never could have imagined. And you will feel their love and pass it on in ways they once did for you. 

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In an effort to NOT overwhelm myself with all the things I am trying to do I will be slowing down my posts to Sundays only for the time being. Thanks for understanding.