The Gift of Grief

This week marks the first anniversary of my dad’s death. I am approaching this day with what feels like a burbling witch’s brew of emotions brewing within me. I loved my dad dearly, but our relationship with him was complicated. He was a good man, but there was no halo over his head. In his younger days he made some choices that had a negative impact on our family, but he changed his life. In the past 20 years we have worked hard at mending our relationship. I will always be grateful that we took the time to patch things up and restore our relationship. When he dies there were no regrets and nothing left unsaid between the two of us.

But there is a battle raging between my heart and head with regard to these feelings of grief. As a Christian woman, I know that Daddy is safe in heaven in the arms of Jesus. He no longer has to stress over paying the bills, losing weight and he is in perfect health and happiness. My head says that I should be happy for him and rejoice that he has made his transition to heaven, but my heart is grieving the loss of a sweet man who was a good friend to me and took up a great amount of space in my life.

Daddy was funny, smart and full of excellent advice that he somehow was not always able to follow himself. He had a wicked sense of humor, and there were times when we would laugh until we both ended up in tears.

You might be wondering why I called this post, ‘The Gift of Grief,’ when most people don’t exactly view grief as a good thing. But it occurred to me that you really only grieve for someone that you truly love. The deeper the love the deeper the grief. Getting to the other side where there is acceptance and peace and joy can give you strength and it has given me a profound sense of compassion for the suffering of others.

This week as these conflicting emotions move through me, as I weep and laugh, feel anger and betrayal and then, hopefully, experience the joy and peace, I know that my dad is always with me. I know that he knows how much I love him and miss him in my life.

A year ago when my grief was still so new and raw– in those days when the ‘ugly cry’ turned to heaving sobs, I turned to the section on birth and death in Elizabeth Lesser’s book, Broken Open: How Difficult Times Can Help Us Grow.

This is one of many of my favorite passages in this wonderful book that gave me so much peace during such a troubled time for me:

There is an art to grieving. To grieve well the loss of anyone or anything–a parent, a love, a child, and era, a home, a job–is a creative act. It takes attention and patience and courage. But many of us do not know how to grieve. We were never taught, and we don’t see examples of full-bodied grieving around us. Our culture favors the fast-food model of mourning–get over it quick and get back to work; affix the bandage of “closure” and move on.

I am not a big fan of “closure.” It sounds so abrupt, so tidy, so final. I prefer old-fashioned words like mourning, lamentation and grief. They suggest a slow and sloppy process–one that involves emotional upheaval, interrupted activity and dark nights of the soul.

I don’t ascribe to the notion of closure either. Having survived a year of the most profound grief I have ever experienced has left me a stronger, more compassionate person who has learned to cherish loved ones and take nothing for granted.

Uncategorized grief, love, personal growth