These days, when people ask me how I am doing, I can finally, honestly say that I am feeling better.
For a time after Daddy passed away, I was miserable and inconsolable. It’s easy to understand where the grief was coming from; Daddy’s passing caught all of us unprepared. I feel like we never really said our goodbyes. Losing him changed me and snuffed out the light and joy I used to have. Alongside these wretched feelings, I think what I found most perplexing was that I was also very angry. I never really undertood the source of that anger until recently.
Last year, a good friend lost someone dear to her. In our talks, she mentioned that she was “sad-angry” most of the time and was having difficulty processing those feelings. I could not, for the life of me, fathom what it meant until I lost my father.
On the surface, I think it seems as if I coped with the loss rather well. Putting on a happy face was, at times, easy because A♥ poured so much effort into making me feel normal and loved. Most of the time, however, I knew I was changed. I was forever blighted by sorrow and grief.
For a time, I preferred to be alone with my thoughts. I could not bear to talk to friends, or even see them. I was also prone to fits of hostile anger. I could feel it simmering inside me as I reined back my desire to curse, stomp, and rage at the world. I felt volatile, ready to explode.
Once, after a particularly weary day when I had been crying over something that reminded me of Daddy, I received a message of condolence and concern. Were I feeling more like myself today, I bet I would not have even reacted. But sent less than sixty days after Daddy passed away, the message ended with “I hope you are moving on.” It took all of my willpower not to reply with indignation and sarcasm. Locked in my bedroom where no one could see, I threw a tantrum.
Moving on? How does one move on when my heart still felt weighted down by overwhelming grief? How do I say goodbye so easily? I felt my heart pounding as I ranted and raved by myself. The callousness, the lack of tact, sensitivity, and genuine concern, the seemingly flippant way my loss was treated- these irked and vexed me no end.
Later that day, after I had exhausted my husband’s patient ear, I finally realized where this was rooted: the wellspring of my anger was fear.
I feared losing the acuteness of my loss. I feared time moving on, dulling pain of its sharpness. I did not want to wake up one day and not feel sad anymore. For months, we all breathed in the air of pain and suffering, and losing them both, our companions in this weary journey, meant losing the familiar and predictable.
I got angry at people who suggested that I “move on” because “moving on” felt much like forgetting. I could not let them forget that easily, that quickly. And I could not let go of my last tenuous ties to Daddy, however unhappy these were, as I feared forgetting him myself. It would almost be like I had willfully discarded him from my life.
In those moments of my deepest fears, I prayed for strength and courage. I prayed for deliverance from this darkness that ate away at my joy and my life. And just like a thousand times before when I lost my way, He led me right back to His love. In my silent devotion, my heart found calm and peace.
I am grateful that the people who love me- A♥ most of all- never gave up and patiently waited for me to feel better again. Knowing that their love comes without judgment, I opened my heart to welcome them back in, allowing them unfettered access to my frailties and shame. Many kept writing to me with brief messages of hope and encouragement. And some went even further, sending me unexpected tokens of their love and friendship. I am blessed with beautiful friends, I am proud to say.
My heart still feels heavy at times. My smiles are still sometimes forced. But for the first time since July, I can stand in the sunlight without burning. I can open my eyes to the light.
I think Daddy would be proud.