Preface—My dad died
two years ago this week. I could write
numerous essays on the things my dad has taught me, but for today, I chose to
write about grief. Two years out, it can
still be hard, and grief comes and goes.
I hope this post helps you or a friend who’s recently lost a parent or a
loved one. I listed specific info for
things you can do at the end of this essay.
I sat on the outdated comforter and sobbed, staring at it
vacantly, memorizing the details of the chintzy burgundy print and the slippery
feel of the polyester fabric. You never
prepare to get bad news, especially outside of the comfort of your own
home. And yet here I was, at a condo
near Disney, aka the happiest place on
earth, receiving the worst news of my life from one of my brothers: my dad
went to bed at home with my mom and did not wake up. In the midst of my frozen disbelief, I stared
at the comforter for a long time. It
wasn’t supposed to happen like this. But
it was.
That day was March 2, 2014.
I would like to say it was the worst day of my life, but the days and
weeks that followed, when the grief really sank in, those were harder. Each day, before I was fully awake, I knew
there was something I was forgetting, something devastating that made my chest and
heart physically hurt. Then it would hit
me, so hard, new, and raw, each day: my dad died. I will
never see him again. He will never see
my girls again. I will never hear his
laugh again. Grief surrounded me like
a heavy fog, enveloping me at times, making it hard to see more than a few
steps ahead of me. So in those early
days, I told myself to literally just put one foot in front of the
other—right-left-right-left—and get through the day. I kept marching on, right-left-right-left,
because really, was there any other choice?
You have to keep going because life keeps going.
In that regard, I think that Robert Frost quote sums it up
perfectly: “in three words I can sum up
everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.” And so, with the days, weeks, months, and
years since my dad passed away, I’ve learned to live life without my dad
here. Now that two years have passed,
grief pops up at unexpected times. Grief
is a funny thing like that; not ha-ha-funny, but surprising-funny. It sneaks
up on you and surprises you when you least expect it, like a sad surprise party
you never wanted; it pops up and yells SURPRISE! and then stares at you,
waiting for a reaction. To be clear,
yes, I am sad on days like his birthday and on Father’s Day, but more often, I
am sad at completely unexpected times.
And when it does happen, there’s no controlling the sadness, you have
just feel it all and be sad and let it out.
Here are two recent times that happened.
I was recently shopping at the Dollar Tree when I saw an
older man who looked exactly like my dad from the back—same silver hair and balding
head, same careful walk. And I wanted
him to be my dad so badly. In my
irrational mind, I was so excited that he was randomly shopping at the Dollar
Tree. But then I remembered—he is not
here, as much as I want him to be, and he will never be here again. And then I missed his laugh and voice and everything
about him. So I stood there in the party
section of the Dollar Tree, between the pink plates and birthday pendants,
choking back tears and trying to appear normal.
After I paid for my purchases and made my way to my mini-van, I let it
all out and sat in the car and cried. I
texted my husband. He understood. He said he was sorry. He knew he couldn’t fix it. I texted my sisters. They understood.
Grief surprised me again last week. We were in the middle of meat section at
Costco when Lucy declared “it smelled like Grandpa.” Which was rather bizarre because, first of
all, we were in the Costco meat section.
Second of all, Lucy was only six when my dad died—did she remember what he smelled like?
What did she think he smelled like?
As I bent down to pepper her with questions—I smelled it. The familiar scent of Skin Bracer aftershave. It was the same after shave my dad had worn
for decades. Lucy had remembered his smell.
It felt like that moment at the end of Lost where everything comes
together and they all realize they know each other, you know? It was like you remember! And it was so
happy and sad and poignant. And it was
happening smack in the middle of the Costco meat aisle, which also made it a
little hysterical. My mom was with us,
so I relayed it to her. We agreed it
might be a bit creepy if we all trailed the Skin Bracer shopper, sniffing him. So we both smiled, and I think she
consciously stopped herself from being sad, and we carried on. Because two years into my grief, that’s what
I do—I pause, acknowledge my sadness, and keep on keeping on.
So much has happened since my dad died that I would love to
share with him, but of course the biggest thing is the birth of my three
babies. I could hear his words when my
babies were born; he would’ve said, “yes sir, you’ve done good, Chrissy.” My dad was, at his core, a huge family
man. If he were here, he would be
telling everyone he knew—and those he didn’t!—about the babies. He would’ve been so proud. I am not someone who generally thinks that
things happen for a reason, but I feel like there was some cosmic influence or
act of God in having spontaneous triplets just seven months after he died. They have brought so much joy and happiness
to our family, and you cannot be too preoccupied with grief when you’re busy
entertaining three giggling babies. I treasure
the text videos he sent to my big girls, where he laughed and smiled and told
them silly things, and I look forward to showing my babies those videos when
they’re older.
In the end, even though I know he’s not here in person, I
know he’s here. I see him every day in
my babies’ bright blue eyes. I feel him at
baptisms and family celebrations. I see
him in the cardinal that perches outside my kitchen window, entertaining the
babies while they sit and eat breakfast.
I hear him telling me to fill up my tires with air and go the cheaper
gas station to get the gas (he had a thing about cheap gas). I feel him when Adele belts out her latest
love ballad and every time I hear a patriotic song. I hear him laughing when we have to spend
hours building Christmas presents. And I
know that Lucy is right when she tells me so confidently that my dad is
watching us from heaven. After all, if
she was so certain we were having triplets (see my first blog post, she was
psychic), it would make sense that she has some connection with my dad too,
right? I think so. And there have been so many times I’ve felt
his presence so strongly, I know she’s right; he’s with us, just not here in
person. He’s right here, and he’s also
everywhere: in the way I parent my children, in the way I love my spouse, in
the person I try to be. He’s left a
beautiful legacy of love. And that makes
me smile.
If You’ve Recently Lost a Parent
If you have recently lost a parent, I’m so sorry for your
loss. It is so hard, raw, and new. Please let yourself grieve and be sad, and
know that there is no handbook for grief—it is different for everyone and
manifests in different ways. And, as you
will learn, there is no timeline or expiration for grief either. However,
I want you to know that it will get easier, and, one day, the fog will lift and
you will be able to laugh and smile without crying when you remember your mom
or dad. I know it’s not a club you ever
wanted to be a part of (i.e., the
I’ve-lost-a-parent club), but everyone who’s in it is incredibly compassionate
and understanding, so I would encourage you to reach out to them and lean on
them. They know your grief and they
share in your sadness. I also wanted to
share that one of the hardest parts about missing your mom or dad is that life
will go on without them. It will be
hard, but you will eventually feel happy.
And you will feel them with you. Be
gentle with yourself, friend.
If Your Friend Has Recently Lost a Parent
I wanted to share a few things that you can do if your
friend is experiencing a loss.
- Call or text. My friend Abby texted me throughout the week as we planned my dad's service, simply to say—I am thinking about you. It meant a lot.
- Offer a specific way to help. A few dear friends said I will bring dinner on Tuesday night and Thursday night, will you be home? It was so nice to have warm food.
- Take your friend to have fun. My friend Lindsey took me out for a pedicure and to go shopping. It was a much-needed respite from grief, and it felt so good to forget about my sadness for a little while.
- Show up to the funeral. Two of my best friends showed up and stood with me during my dad’s wake and funeral. I have no idea how much work was involved in squaring away kids, work, and everything else, but they did it. They showed up when I really needed them. They didn’t even have to say anything, but they stood there alongside me, bearing witness to my sadness.
- If you knew their loved one, share their sadness and honor their loved one by sharing your favorite memories of them. My oldest friend Jessica grew up knowing my dad quite well. With each call and text, her sadness was palpable. She regularly sends me old photos of my family as she finds them. They’re always a treasure.
- Send a handwritten card to your friend. There’s something to be said for snail mail and seeing my friends’ handwritten expressions of sympathy.
- Send a plant or flowers for the funeral in memory of their loved one. If you can’t be at the service, sending a plant or flowers will make your friend smile and feel your presence.
- Just say something. When you get back to daily living after having lost your parent, everything is the same and altogether different, too. If you don’t say something, it seems like everyone is pretending this big, sad thing didn’t happen. So say something very generic, like I’m sorry. Or I’ve been thinking about you. Or, I’ve been praying for you. Generally any expression of sympathy is welcome except for any sentiment that “they’re in a better place.”
- Don’t forget. Use their parent’s name. Share your favorite memories. Help keep their memory alive for your friend. Understand that your friend may still be sad months or years later.
- Finally, just be present and listen. Your friend will appreciate that more than you can know.
It is taking everything in me not to get in my car, drive to Baton Rouge, give you a huge hug, and take you for coffee. Beautiful and raw in every way. xoxo!
ReplyDeleteChrissy, I didn't know until I read this that your dad just didn't wake up one morning. I don't know why, but I assumed he had been ill. I didn't realize that you had the same kind of shocker that we did when my mom just passed away in her sleep so unexpectedly. I don't think knowing or being surprised either one would make losing your parent any easier. But I just didn't ask for details and didn't realize your experience was so similar. I can't imagine being on vacation and finding out. I don't know how I would have even been able to function to make it home! I'm the one who found my mom had passed. In some ways I hate that it had to be me, and in other ways I am oddly thankful that it was me and I didn't have to get he news while I was somewhere else. I just want you to know that I think of y'all often and you and your family are very much in my thoughts and prayers!! As you said, this is a club that no one is ever really ready to be a member of.
ReplyDeleteMendy Cross
Chrissy, my dad died very unexpectedly 10 years ago. Everything you said is spot-on. I still get the grief that surprises me in weird places, but now I can usually smile through the tears. You learn to live with it and to go on, especially when you see a glimpse of him in your sweet children. Thank you, thank you, thank you for sharing this!!
ReplyDeleteAngie Petrolia