Ten years ago, I experienced a major shift in my life when my dad died unexpectedly. Here is what I’ve learned about grief after a decade of navigation.
Grief is patient.
I was nine months pregnant when my dad died, and all I could do was put one foot in front of the other and breathe. I knew I had to keep it together to keep my baby alive inside of me. Then, in those first early months of motherhood, I think I was still in shock while grief hung over my head, patiently waiting for me to acknowledge it. Looking back, I don’t think I properly began to process until over a year after my dad’s death and becoming a mom. Grief waited for me patiently and eventually demanded my attention.
Grief wears disguises.
In those first few months, I think I was mostly numb. Plus, I had the most adorable distraction. I was happy and engaged with my baby, but anytime I put him down for a nap or for the night, I felt the numbness come over me. Then came the tears. Then came the anger and anxiety. And then came the dark sadness. I believe all of this was grief wearing different faces, even though I didn’t always know it at the time.
Grief can be lonely.
I have never felt more alone than I did in the worst days of my grief. I didn’t have to worry about my grieving mom as they divorced when I was four. And my children did not arrive until weeks and then years after my dad died. I am grateful because it did not break their hearts or rearrange their lives. But sometimes, I have felt like I’m on my own island.
Grief can be selfish.
I not only miss my dad physically being here, but I also miss all the love and support with which he surrounded me. I can’t say I completely took it for granted because I was always aware of how lucky I was to have the connection I had with him. However, I had no idea how dark my world would be without his light. Because my parents divorced, much of my time with my dad was one-on-one quality time. He consistently showed up to my life with unconditional love, complete presence, and unwavering support for whatever crazy turn my life took. With his eyes, I always felt seen, and with his ears, I always felt heard. He was my safe place to be 100% my authentic self and still be loved unconditionally and without judgment. I don’t just miss him; I miss how he made me feel and who I was through his eyes. I miss being adored by him, and that feels a little selfish.
Grief is a magnet.
What I wasn’t expecting was the way grief acted like a magnet, pulling out other shrapnel of loss from the cracks of my heart. Specifically, one breakup of a longtime love and a few other endings I had breezed over, combined with the monumental loss of my dad, the way a snowball accumulates more snow and gains traction as it rolls down a hill. That snowball hit me like a ton of bricks, and I was finally forced to process all of it.
Grief will show you who other people are.
Some people will be uncomfortable with your grief. Some people will judge how sad you are, how long you are sad, and how this heaviness affects your behavior. I have learned that these judgments have little to do with me but rather say more about the other person. And if I encounter someone who just doesn’t get it, I count them lucky not to have experienced this kind of pain. It also makes me truly grateful for those I can go to for understanding and support and those who keep his memory alive and are comfortable talking to me about him. Great love leaves behind great pain; luckily, some people just don’t get it.
Grief makes the small things smaller.
I knew my life would never be the same in a world without my dad in it, but it hasn’t all been negative. It has truly helped me put little things in perspective. The things that won’t matter a year from now don’t deserve my stress. I can stay calm even in difficult situations because I have already survived that grief snowball. I am stronger and more resilient for having loved and lost. In this way, grief rearranged my life and priorities, and I am better for it.
Grief has made me a better mom.
It is so important to me now to show up for my boys the way my dad showed up for me. I’d like to think that even if he were here, I would know this, but having lost such an important source of love and support, it feels even more urgent and crucial. The best I can do now is to make sure my boys feel seen, heard, and loved for who they are. I feel an even stronger desire to bring to the world all the kindness and compassion my dad did and to model that for my children the way he modeled that for me.
Grief is forever.
The shock wears off, laughter returns, and memories become warm again, but the grief remains. I carry it with me now, just like my love for him. I find this comforting. It is a relief to know that I can stop running; there is no finish line. I feel lucky to feel his absence still because I was so fortunate to have his strong presence. I am forever changed, will forever love, and will forever grieve, and I have found peace in that.
Grief is an excellent teacher.
Grief has a way of rearranging your life and leaving a hole in your heart. It took me a long time to realize that you can be grateful for everything in your life and also be sad at the same time. My blessings do not exempt me from feeling pain, nor do they take away my right to feel loss. The life-changing events force us to break open, grow, heal, and, I believe, love even more deeply while we are still here to do so.
Thank you, Daddy, and thank you, grief, for all the lessons.
