On Grief and Missing Him

When we lose someone we love, it seems that time stands still.

What moves through us is a silence… a quiet sadness…

A longing for one more day… one more word… one more touch.

We may not understand why you left this earth so soon, or why you left before we were ready to say good-bye.

But, little by little, we begin to remember

not just that you died,

but that you lived.

And that your life gave us memories too beautiful to forget.

We will see you again someday, in a heavenly place where there is no parting.

A place where there are no words that mean good-bye.

{Irish Funeral Prayer}

My dad died 3 years ago today. While 2 years ago I wrote that 1 year didn't seem possible, it now sometimes seems like he has been gone longer than just 3 years. So much has changed. Just as I have done for the past 3 years on his birthday and the anniversary of his death, I am choosing to carve out a little space for him here. 

Grief is definitely an individual journey and one person's path cannot be compared to another's. Three years out, I can say that my grief is no longer as intense or sharp or as all-consuming as it once was. There is still pain; but there is also beauty in the memories. For a long time after his death, I was just so mad that Dad passed away before Crosby was born, that missing him was all I could think of. I sat around making lists of things that he would never experience or that Crosby wouldn't experience with him. I despaired in how my life could be full, when his was over. 

In the past, I have written about how I longed to see God's hand in loosing my Dad, but that I just wasn't there yet. I am probably still not there, still a work in progress, but I do see how Dad dying not only changed my life forever, but that God is using it to change me. I'm still processing these changes and my thoughts on it are probably too jumbled up to try and make sense by writing them out. Easter was just this past weekend and I know Jesus took on pain and suffering so that I can see my Dad again in Heaven. Loosing Dad sparked a longing me that has probably been there all along, just underneath the surface. My grief has allowed me to form a cohesive conclusion about that longing: This world is impermanent, fleeting, and someday, when the time comes, I want to get to go Home too.

My Dad wasn't just a great dad, he was one of my closest friends. Dad was funny and sensitive, yet he also had an edge that you knew came from deep wounds and quiet pain. He was a strong man that had endured so much, yet I also saw his moments of weakness. He was humble, but would ask you to repeat a compliment multiple times with a smug grin on his face eating it up over and over again. He had an absolute sense of what he viewed as right and wrong, but I could tell him anything and even if we disagreed, I was able to walk away feeling heard. Dad had a struggle with addition but was able to see firsthand the beautiful side of recovery. And he used that to help others. Hundreds of people showed up at his funeral and spoke about the positive impact he had on their life and the change for the better he inspired in them. Dad was complex and a beautiful example of the dueling qualities that co-exist in all of us.

My Dad died; but more importantly he lived.

Having him as my father was one of my greatest blessings. And I know that goodness has, and will, come from loosing him too.

I miss you everyday, Daddy. See you in the movies.

Love,

Your Princess