Lessons on Grief

Last year was the fifth anniversary of my father’s death. I wrote about it, here.

I’ve learned some lessons over the last six years, with additional ones becoming clear with every change of the calendar. Now that the day is ending, I feel better about writing this.

You see, lesson one is that at some point you may become externally “ok” to the rest of the world. You smile when people mention their still-living family members, even those who mention yours out of a desire to be kind and let you know they’re thinking of you.

Perhaps you’d never discourage that; it can be good to know you aren’t the only person who remembers them.

Perhaps you feel like screaming while you simply smile and say “thanks”.

Either reaction is ok. And it’s ok to randomly alternate between them.

Lesson two is that the grieving isn’t over.

It’s ok to have to pull over to the side of the road while on a Target run because you suddenly started crying, that big old gulping for air kind of crying, just because a memory slammed into the front of your thoughts.

It’s also ok to get home and when your spouse asks why the trip took a little longer than usual, to respond that the store was running a little slow today.

Lesson two point five is that you can’t control when the grief will hit.

It could be when you’re driving on that Target run.

It could be when you’re sitting on the couch on Father’s Day morning, just you and the Labrador looking out the window because everyone else is out for a run, you think how much your dad would have loved to meet Mikko the lab and the next thing you know you’re hanging on to the poor dog for dear life while he tries to lick away tears he doesn’t understand.

Lesson two point seven five is that Labradors are really good for hugging.

Lesson three is that it’s ok to go as long or as short as your mind would like between hits of grief. You may eventually go weeks without thinking of the loss. The one certainty for those of us who are listed as “survived by” is that life will continue.

Time waits for nobody.

And if you find yourself realizing that you haven’t thought of that person in weeks, it’s ok. You don’t need to feel guilty about that. You might. But it’s not a requirement.

Lesson four is that in the moments when your life isn’t going well, or you aren’t proud of what you’ve done or even of what’s happening outside your control, you may feel guilt. You may feel that you’re letting that person down.

You’re not alone.

I personally have a multi-volume set of ways I believe I’ve failed my father since his death.

Sometimes I write them in my journal.

Sometimes I burn those pages.

Lesson five is that however, whenever, and in whatever way you grieve, it’s ok and it’s allowed. Don’t ever let anyone tell you to get over it, to move on, to “let it go.”

You are allowed to tell anyone saying those phrases or a version thereof to get away from you and to go perform an obscene act upon themselves.

Your grief is yours, not theirs, and you don’t owe them anything.

For those who identify with the above, if you’re having a hard time functioning, if you feel depressed, if you feel lost, and you want to talk to someone, please do so. I have. It helped me. Maybe it would help you.

But what also helps me is writing these things out, the only light in the room coming from a dim monitor, a glass of scotch on the rocks sitting next to my keyboard slowly sweating onto the desk.

That’s ok too.

I miss you, dad.

In all sorts of ways and times and places.

Happy Father’s Day.