“I think we should rename me Rocky Balboa.”
That’s what I texted my friend on Monday morning. With my eyes looking bruised and literally swollen shut, after a night – actually day and night – of endless crying.
She had Skyped me the night before, right in the middle of it. Poor thing.
I answered the Skype call and said, “When did I become so freaking high maintenance?!?!?”
People, I’m not a big crier. I sang to my best friend’s 11-year-old daughter while she laid in a hospice bed dying of cancer. I sang at her wake and her funeral and loved on her family.
And. I. Didn’t. Cry.
Now? Suddenly? I am a crier.
Here’s the thing. It’s been three months since my dad died. And it just hit me he’s not coming back.
I know, I’m quick like that.
I’ve known it in my head. And I’ve felt it in my heart. But never at the same time.
I had avoided living with it simultaneously.
When I would think about it, look at photos, talk about him and the circumstances of his death to people, I steeled myself. I willed my heart to stop beating for those moments so I could say what needed to be said without feeling the sting of the words.
And when my heart beat in rhythm with his that is now missing – when tears would begin to sting my eyes – my head would remind me that crying hurts this broken body. Nausea would taste bitter in my mouth and the migraine would creep up my neck and I would will myself to stop. My mind would steel up against the inevitable.
Until one day. Yesterday. When that Band-Aid of shock got ripped off.
Fast and painful.
My mind and my heart knew it simultaneously.
He’s not coming back.
That happy laugh and smile. Those big hands and soft hugs.
God, we miss that man.
So, why am I telling you this? Mainly because grief happens to all of us. And if this felt crazy when it happened to you, I want to let you know you weren’t. And if you experience grief someday in the future, I want you to know there are no rules or schedules wrapped up in a neat and tidy package.
Or maybe I’m just writing it to tell myself: Sometimes, it’s ok to be broken.
And if you feel broken today, we are here. Listening. Ready to pray for you.
By Sara Frankl, Gitzen Girl
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praying for you Sarah. Its been over 3 yrs for my Dad. I still miss him so much. Praying for God to give you His comfort.
Hugs,
Teena
Thank you, Teena. I’m sorry about your dad and will be praying for you today as well. We all need a bit now and then, don’t we? 🙂 Blessings…
14 years. The heart-shattering grief feels more hollow and empty now. The unrelenting tears don’t come so often, but it just feels … empty. It’s so much better now and I don’t know when that began to happen, but I do know that if it weren’t for God’s promises of eternity and my pleading prayers and prayers of friends, I would still be that crying mess. Yes, it’s OK to be broken, lest we forget to lean into Him.
Prayers for you tonight, Sarah.
Thank you, friend. I think that’s what gets me… when people say they feel him close. Or tell me he’s with me. Because, to me, he feels so very far away… his presence here was so large that it feels so empty without him.
Which is why I hold so tight to knowing I’ll be there with him someday. That he feels far away now, but someday he won’t be when I am there. I couldn’t do it without that promise. I just couldn’t.
Losing a parent is one of the hardest things to go through. I lost my Mom 5 years ago. The pain has lessened in some ways, but there are still times that I will look at a picture of her, or think about her, or wish I could talk to her and it washed over me like a tidal wave. I cry and then move on. Big hugs to you.
It is a tidal wave… when tears spill over before you know they are coming. I think five years is a short time when you love someone for as long as you have. Sending hugs to you as well.
Mom went home in July of 2004. Dad went home in February of this year. It leaves one untethered. Even though I have 7 children and am 48, it still felt like I had been set adrift. Thankfully, He is my anchor. He knows.
May His Healing Hand touch your broken heart today. May the process of grief be cathartic and complete. As you walk through your first holiday season without him, may He be very, very near.
Untethered is a really appropriate word. And I think you probably feel it despite your seven children because your parents’ example is what made you being a mom to those seven possible. What a gift in the middle of loss. They go together, don’t they?
Will be praying for you as well as you have this first holiday without your dad.
Beautiful Sara, how I wish I could wrap my arms around you this morning and do some good crying with you. I’m sending these words in my place for now and just want you to know how much you’re LOVED.
That’s the lovely thing about this space… we are all with each other. You are so very appreciated 🙂
Hugs to you, Sara.
Your words, true.
Grief is a process
with no timetables.
Surreal, my best friend calls it.
Feeling crazy, as you say,
is part of it
and if it isn’t
it’ll come back to bite.
I have always taken heart
knowing that Jesus was described as one
“acquainted with grief.”
With each grief
I’ve had
I’ve come to know more
of what that means,
and, I think, come to know Him better.
Blessings to all who mourn today.
May God’s hand be seen in it
and may it guide.
That’s what I notice… that it comes back to bite. Sometimes the more I try to steel myself from it – pretend it’s not happening – the longer the grief holds when it hits hard. There is a definite lessen in letting the grief set our timetables.
Nov. 19 is my sister’s heaven day…sometimes it seems like yesterday. It was about 3 months that is really hit me she wasn’t coming back too. Something had happened and I couldn’t wait to call and tell her, I actually picked up the phone to call and then it hit me that she would not answer….cried and cried…and then I remembered she already knew what had happened and had a front row seat…it made me smile! I have been writing about mourning and healing…you might find comfort in my “cleaning out the closet”
May HE who knows the pain, comfort you today and bring you surprising peace and laughter!
Jean
I just did that the other day, too. I was looking at a mirror that needs hung and wondered when Dad would be able to come do it. Our brains are slow to catch up sometimes with our hearts.
I just wrote you down for a few days from now… to say an extra prayer for you on her heaven day…
Thank you for te reminder that it is okay to be broken. Much needed 🙂
We all are, in so many different ways. But you can’t fix what isn’t broken. Letting ourselves be broken also allows Him to step in and heal.
I feel like I can’t even comment on this post because I haven’t lost a parent. But I read your blog when your dad died and I almost feel as if I knew him a little bit from it all, through your words. I think you express yourself so beautifully here.
I’m so glad you did comment. Because I think it’s about so much more than losing a parent. I think it’s about letting ourselves grieve the things in our lives that we lose as we live. Some are bigger than others… but we all go through it. And I appreciate so much that we can show up here – that you showed up for me at my blog in those days – to share in the good and bad in life. I know it’s made my life so much more full.
Sara,
I lost my mom when I was 9 and I couldn’t talk about it without crying until I was in college; I lost my dad almost 4 years ago, although mentally he was really gone a year prior to that. Because we saw him suffer for so long and saw the mercy in his death, I’ve handled it better (plus, I’m much older now).
But your circumstances are SO different! It doesn’t surprise me a bit how grief popped in when you least expected! What a gentle, kind thing to encourage others in the midst of your Great Sadness…and to validate them.
Oh, to look you in the eyes and say “Babydoll, I am SO sorry for your loss…and I know you miss him!” And then, just sit beside you and listen…to tears, talk or silence. You’re precious.
Did you know he called me Babydoll? That’s just what he would have said to me today.
Knowing you lost your mom at nine makes me wish I could wrap you up. Wrap up that nine year old part of you that must still miss her just the same, even though we change with time. While I also know that no other arms can match the ones we’ve lost… it is such a comfort to feel the ones who love us sincerely.
Wrapping you up today, too, friend. 🙂
No….I didn’t realize he called you Babydoll or I probably WOULDN’T have said it. It’s a term of endearment I use for those I love…
and something about our exchange buoys my spirit. Thank you for your grace and kindness. 🙂
xo
I was a freshman in college, back when we still had answering machines, and he left me a message, “Hey, sweetie. How’s my baby doll doing?” So many people heard it and made fun of me, but I saved that message the whole year… I couldn’t have cared less if I they called me a daddy’s girl. 🙂 wish I had a recording of it now. But I have a couple of letters from him that are priceless. I was a lucky girl.
I really hope we meet someday, Robin. I know the chances are beyond impossible unless we have a beach house party here at the condo, but I like to pretend it’s possible, just the same. 🙂
My mom also died this year. And it hit me hard. Just a couple of nights ago, I thought I heard her laugh…I can still hear her voice. But I know my heavenly Father is with her and will help me to heal in time. THank you for sharing your heart.
I am praying for you today… I know that feeling of looking ahead to these holidays approaching, and then trying not to anticipate more than necessary. I hope you continue to hear her voice and her laugh… I’m sure she’s laughing in the pure joy of heaven. I can’t wait until we all know that feeling.
My Hubby’s Mimi died of cancer in August. She might have been his Grandmother but she raised him and taught him about life and the Lord, as a mother would. She died so quickly and he is still healing, could you please pray for him, and our Papa, they were married for 53 years and Papa just discovered his has cancer too. These holidays will be his first without her.
Thank You & God Bless.
I will pray for them both, Vikki, and for you as well as you help them on this journey. You are experiencing the pain of a sudden loss and the pain of caring for someone as they walk through grief and illness. Please know we’re all here if you need us as you’re walking this road. Truly.
Sara,
I lost my mom, actually twice. Once to dementia/alzheimers & sundowners. For about 2-2.5 years she would lay in bed and do a lot of repetitive moves with her hands. Watching her slowly die that way is painful – knowing she will only get worse.
Then after yet another hospital stay, although short, she came home on a Saturday & went to be with God the following Wednesday 2009. I was fine at first. Relieved to have her suffering done with. But here lately I think about some of the good times & even the bad ones I spent with her & start crying.
Having my dad around helps. I can talk with him & share things about her. My husband has also lost his mom, to brain cancer, many many years ago so he was a big, big comfort to me.
I pray God will send angels to hug you & let you know everything is ok.
I remember when my Grandma died after a long illness. We were relieved for her and her suffering… we were prepared as she left. And then I was shocked at how sudden it still felt after all that “preparing.” I get it… all the suffering in the world doesn’t prepare us for the absence of them. I try to remember that when I wonder why Dad had to go so suddenly… so without warning. That even with warning the shock would have still come.
I’m so glad your dad and husband are a good source of comfort for you. I’m praying for you today, Beth.
thank you so much for sharing this today over at (in)courage. thought i have not lost a parent to death, i have lost my young (61) dad to early onset alzeimers disease. each time i visit him, more of him has died, another piece of him gone. he doesn’t know me anymore, can’t communicate with me at all, and when i look into his yeyes, they are empty. it’s like his body is his shell and he’s lost somewhere in there and can’t get out. we went to visit him this past weekend and the grief has hit all over again. lots of tears. lots of heaviness. lots of memories of how dad used to be. but through it all, God continues to sustain me, continues to remind me that i am His and that He is acquainted with my sorrow and grief.
this post was such a sweet reminder. thank you.
patty
I do believe God is wrapping you up, but also wrapping up your Dad. I’m praying today that he, while lost to you all, knows and feels he is not lost in the God who loves him so much.
I know, Sara. I know just how that feels. My Dad will be gone 3 years this December and it still doesn’t even seem possible that he is gone. I saw the comment above about the lady who is 48 and a mom of 7 who felt that she had been set adrift in losing her parents and I understand that too. I’m a 44 yr. old mom of 8 and a grandma of 3 and I can’t tell you how my heart still longs to talk to my Dad.
Hugs to you dear Sara and everyone else who is missing a loved one. May the LORD fill you in His peace, heal your heart and bring you soon to a place where you feel more joy than sorrow when you think about your Father.
I say that so much, Beth. That it doesn’t seem possible. I know it’s only been a short time for us, but I told my sister the other day that I can’t imagine a day where this will feel normal or possible. When it won’t be shocking every day to realize again that he is gone.
But I think it’s a myth that time heals all wounds. I think time, instead, gives us grace to walk through it… like you have done. Praying for you today, as well.
I love you. No I have never met you. But I love your sweet, sweet soul. The way you share. The way you change me and my heart, into seeing the world a new. In the way I see situations anew. And I pray for you. For the healing and the mending of a heart that will never be ok with what you know. But I pray, that the thought of seeing him once again, when you see your heavenly Father, that somehow, someway, that may eventually give you peace. Blessings to you and your family. For who you are and how you share your faith so openly.
This comment was like a salve today, Pamela. Thank you, and thank you for all the kindness and prayers.
I can’t get through reading these comments without being teary. My dad was diagnosed with ALS (Lou Gehrig’s) over two years ago and, while we spend lots of time together, I just have to block out thoughts that these moments are the last I’ll share with him on this earth. Probably what pains me the most is that my young boys will never know their grandpa as he was. Slowly he loses mobility of all of his voluntary muscles, all while remaining fully cognizant.
I don’t want to be without him.
I know grief is part of the human experience and I’m thankful we have so much more to look forward to. I do find comfort in these verses from I Cor. “Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day…so we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but what is unseen. …we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have…an eternal house in heaven…” But of course, while it’s a comfort to know he will be with the Lord, I can’t bear to think of him not here. Literally feel like I can’t bear it.
So I don’t think about it. Is that terrible? I’m afraid I’m saving it all up for later.
Blessings to you, sister in Christ.
I had a friend with ALS and I know how hard watching that struggle is. But I don’t think setting aside the inevitable is terrible, Laura. I think what you are doing is choosing to live in the now. To not waste a precious moment with him by anticipating what is to come.
What I am most grateful for is that Dad and I had no regrets. There is nothing I wish I would have told him, no moments I wish I would have taken. We loved in our moments and left nothing unsaid. Do the same with your Dad. Live your moments, love in your moments and leave nothing unsaid. Treasure and enjoy him, and we will all be here in the “later” when you need us.
altogether different, i’m in a deep season of grief as well. and i know exactly what you mean about those moments when both my heart and my head get it at the same exact second. the wind is knocked out of me, the sobbing comes so fast…
until i will it to stop again. for my own sanity.
gonna keep reminding myself today of this:
brOKen… i’m broken, but im OK.
i love you sweet fritz.
My heart is with both of my aching loves today…hugging you from here.
Sweet friend, grief is real in all circumstances. And I know you are feeling those fresh and deep. I’m praying for you every day, Frassie. And I’m here, holding you up in the broken times and holding you close as you mend what’s broken.
All shall be well, friend. I promise. You’re ok just as you are.
I am praying for you. I, too, steel myself up and do not cry (ESPECIALLY in front of other people!). I may not be able to relate to your illness or the loss of your dad, but I understand how difficult today is for you. If I could be there in person, I’d hug you, but I hope an “e-hug” will do. *BIG BEAR HUGS!*
Love in Christ,
~amanda~
e-hugs have become my lifeline. 🙂 thank you…
Yep.
“I’ve known it in my head. And I’ve felt it in my heart. But never at the same time.
I had avoided living with it simultaneously.”
You said it perfectly dear one.
Since May 2008, I now care for my stallion husband of 30 years.
http://bonniesolid.wordpress.com/category/family/
How blessed to have had those stallions in our lives.
True… mom and I are constantly reminding each other to come back to our gratitude for so many years of so much love. We have been so blessed.
It has been 2 years, 3 months since my son Christian went to be with Jesus. Grief is a journey… we don’t get over it, but God walks through it with us! I am so sorry for your loss and am praying for you this morning. May the God of all comfort lift you up and give you joy in the midst of your tears. Let them flow, my friend.
Love in Christ,
Marsha
I am praying for you, too, Marsha… as you continue to walk through this with grace. Thanks for sharing with us about Christian.
Thank you so much for your blog. You said something that I have tried to spread over the last 2 1/2 years………………..”I want you to know there are no rules or schedules wrapped up in a neat and tidy package”! I am a counselor and know all the “rules” and “timelines” of grief, but until I experienced it first hand and on such a intimate level, I never understood it. I HAS NO RULES OR SCHEDULES! So when people questioned me on how and why it was taking me so long to move on, I just very truthfully said “I don’t know”…..but the answer is there are NO timelines and rules……
Thank you for verifying that in my heart today!
I think, sometimes, when those rules for grief were written, they were written by someone who had mourned. But I think grief is a whole other animal. Mourning we can walk through… grief takes hold and walks us through on its timetable.
I’m so glad this found you at the right time… praying for you today, Stacy.
Hey Sarah – We are reminded much to often how permanent that death is. That sound so silly when I say it, but it’s true. I thought for many years after my Dad died in 1995, Oh, I have to call Dad & tell him something ! And when he died I also thought, oh no, I’m an orphan (which I’m not sure you can technically be an orphan at age 36 and have 3 kids of your own !) My Mom has been gone for 35 years and I really wish she was here now to see our daughter, Katie, get married next month ! She would be so proud. But I read your blog almost daily and am so inspired by your writings and life! You are in our prayers ! Ron & Marty
Marty – you have no idea how big of a smile just came across my face seeing you here. That day – watching the wake service over Skype – getting to see you and Ron and others made me feel a little more connected. Like a little piece of me was somehow there. You taking the time to come over to the computer and getting to see you meant so much.
I can’t believe your Katie is getting married – time really doesn’t stand still, does it? But seeing that your mom has been gone so long reminds me once again how blessed we were to have Dad in our lives all these years. I do better when I remember to be grateful for what we had rather than think ahead to the years we’ll be without him. I’ll be thinking of you and praying for you all… wish I could see Troj walking her down the isle. I have a feeling he’ll be beaming as big as she will be 🙂
I don’t think I have ever seen the timing of grief explained so well before. Knowing in your head and your heart at the same time. And the heart has its own timetable. Which gives everyone’s grief a different timetable. But no less hard. Thanks for sharing your heart, I hope that it helps others understand grief that is their own or someone elses and that every reaction to it is normal and okay.
That’s something I’ve learned in the past few months… that I’m not as in control of my heart as I thought I was. That sometimes, life just takes over and we have to follow what is put in front of us when it is. I’m learning…
I know how this feels. I lost my brother back in February and it still hurts. This will be our first Christmas without him and I know it’ll be hard. I hear the song by Rascal Flatts “What Hurts the Most” and I cry every time because it’s how I feel so often. Ronnie and I were quite close and talked every week for 2-3 hours on end. Once he got throat cancer, that stopped. But when we saw each other, it was like nothing changed. He did his talking the best way he knew how and most times, I understood. And he had the most expressive eyes! Even though there was a big age gap between us ( 23 years ) we were quite close and that didn’t end because he couldn’t talk. I’ll always remember our long talks and how much we loved and respected each other. I’m crying as I write this. Don’t let anyone you love go without telling them. It’s so important. I’ll always miss him and I’m letting my grief just set the tone for me. I’m not going to let anyone tell me when to “stop”.
I know what you mean… I spoke to my Dad all the time, too, so I think that makes it harder for us to have those “pretend” days. Sometimes I want days where I can pretend it hasn’t happened so I don’t carry around that weight in my chest… but he was so integral to my days that pretending just isn’t possible.
Praying for you, Susanne, that you feel all who love and support you whether it’s a good day or a bad one.
I cannot pretend to know the grief you’re walking through, but I am assured you are NEVER alone. You’ve been so busy being stron; it’s now time to let the rest of us carry you for a bit. We are all so broken, in so many ways…Really? It is about how we allow Him to piece us back together. I’m always here to gather your extra parts, friend.
I don’t know what I would have done without you on Skype that night. I needed, after a day of feeling so isolated, to sit with you and Jason and find a way to laugh at my suddenly high maintenance self. You are such a blessing to me. I wish I had words big enough to fully tell you, but I hope you know regardless.
The other day I had to look at my dad’s obituary to get his exact date of death. It was hard because he has been gone from this earth for nearly 6 years. I still can’t believe it. It seems like just yesterday we were sitting in his living room, watching Las Vegas, munching on some Chrismtas cookies I had brought over and he was complaining of the cold that he just couldn’t shake. Three weeks later he was gone. At Easter I still wait for him to deliver the goodies to the kids and when I hear a box van I think maybe that’s dad bringing me a gooey donut and some coffee like he would do when his route would put me past his house.
It’s hard, I miss him, but I am hopeful that I will see him on the other side of eternity.
((hugs)) and prayers.
It’s almost better for me when people say it’s still hard six years later… like somehow it’s not so crazy for me to think that this is so unnatural that it won’t ever feel right. It’s easier to know that than to somehow think I have to find a way to “get over” it.
My heart just aches for you. I lost my father suddenly also, over 30 years ago when I was Daddy’s little girl of 15. I remember the whole world disappearing and being enveloped in grief for months, for ever. Knowing he was in heaven was my only solace. Then those moments would hit me like a brick out of the clear blue. He would not see me graduate, walk me down the aisle, hold my children. And I would cry. You know. My whole life was defined by life with him, then life without him. I am forever thankful for his influence on my life, raising me to love God with my whole heart, with my life, but when I forgot how his voice sounded, how he smelled, I was devastated. The grief is fresh and new each time I remember my last hug and I love you before he was taken away.
Then my baby brother of 19 was suddenly taken one sunny morning 17 years ago and the shock and grief overwhelmed me, devastated me. It was unspeakable that this would happen to our family again. But since then I have realized something. My heart was broken twice, and I cannot think of either of them without crying for the missing of them, but now my heart is bigger. I can feel other’s grief in a way I never would have been able to before. I can pray for them in ways someone else might not think of. I know God is present in every circumstance. He has collected my tears in a bottle and they are precious to Him, as your tears are to Him as well. None are wasted. Death is not random, meaningless, or even simply a part of life we just have to deal with. It is for a purpose, His purpose and His plan. We don’t know why it happens when it does, but He knows. And each loved one waiting for me in heaven makes it easier for me to let go of this life and look longingly to the sky, anticipating the joy that awaits some day. I have read your posts for so long, but I wanted you to know that I hear your heart as so many others do, and that you are in my prayers every day. I pray that you feel God’s peace that passes all understanding during the hard times and know, it is well. It really is.
“Death is not random, meaningless, or even simply a part of life we just have to deal with. It is for a purpose, His purpose and His plan.”
Those two sentences are literally what I repeat to myself often. My Dad is in the less than 1% of the population who died of anaphylaxis and it seems so random. But I remind myself that in HIM, nothing is. Thanks for that reminder today.
This was year number six of my mom being gone…For some reason I’ve been struggling more this season than in years past. I have to say He has taught me through this that my TRUE home is with Him. Praying for your broken heart and that the Healer will comfort you.
Praying for you, Rebecca, especially as the holidays roll back around…
I lost my mom 6 years and my dad 4 years ago. I still miss them. My son’s poor fiance (18 years old) lost her father last week to a motorcycle accident. She is beating herself up because she had kept her new baby from him as he has been an alcholic and abusive in the past. Be sure that you let your family know that you love them. Losing someone to illness is horrible, losing someone suddenly, I believe would have to be worse. As a matter of fact, my mom got sick and died within a week, A big shock. My father however, had head and neck cancer he had been battling for 10 years. We had time to prepare as we knew when he was getting close. Difficult, but we had a chance to say goodbye…
Will be praying for you. Three months was a long time to hold it in.
Bernice
I think the suddenness of Dad’s death still has us all in shock… there is an element of learning to accept it was possible before being able to really process it. But I am so grateful that I did come from a family that spoke their hearts. There isn’t anyone in my dad’s life who didn’t know he loved them… and we learned to express ourselves in return. I am so very grateful to not have those regrets.
I am so sorry to hear about your daughter in law’s father. She is very lucky to have you in her life and helping her through.
Loss is brutal. I’m so sorry you and your family were hit by it in such an unexpected, “close-to-home” way. I think of you often & pray for you.
My two biggest losses were my {favorite, best-friend, mentor} grandmother, who passed completely unexpectedly of a massive stroke at the young age of 68, and our baby we never got to meet. Both loss anniversaries are at this time of year.
Thank you for sharing your heart!
I often try to picture Dad with others that we have loved and lost. It doesn’t make it any easier for us here, as we miss them, but I like to think that your grandma is watching over your sweet baby in heaven. It doesn’t make our arms ache for them less here, but I hope for the day when we get to have that reunion, too.
Sara, I lost my mom 6 1/2 years ago. It’s such a process, this grief thing. Some days it’s joyful, remembering. And some days it hurts so much to think about this void that exists now. I’m with ya, and I’m praying 🙂
Thanks, Katie… saying a prayer for you right now. It’s always when I lull myself into thinking all is ok that it sneaks up 🙂
Praying for you….it’s hard to lose those we love on this earth…to finally realize that they haven’t just took off on a long vacation…or maybe they have-one like we’ve never experienced here on earth and won’t until we reach eternity with them and HIM
It’s amazing how much the length of time changes in our conscious when eternity comes into play. We really are just living a blip in our existence…
thank you…not only for sharing, but for putting explanation and community to my own one-two punch of reality coming together–just before i logged on to “distract” myself…and rather than distraction, He gave me someone experiencing the same. He’s cool like that.
That makes me smile… that He brought you here at the right time, and that He prompted me to write just for you. 🙂
i feel this too…my mom died 8.5 years ago now…before my wedding or kids and i miss her so…actually the first piece i submitted here (which i don’t know yet what will happen with it) is about that grief these 8.5 years removed when it still creeps up and wanting and needing to cry but to also grow in grief, which i hesitatingly say, because it is so raw for you and for anyone even when so much time has passed…learning to let the hurt come. We need to grieve. and learning to let the only One who can do what only He can do out of it…my Dad was just here with his new wife and we watched “We are Marshall” together and talked about the grief-stricken Dad who says, “Grief is messy.” Because it is…
i guess i could keep going, but suffice it to say…i feel this with you and yet know your grief is unique and so i trust this journey to He who sees all of these tears He knows we will cry…
with blessings and prayers, abby
Grief is messy… and we hate mess so much that we are constantly trying to wrap it into a nice pretty bow.
And then we learn better, don’t we?
Sara, I save your blog up and read many posts at once. I hadn’t been in days, but I could have written this post this week. Wednesday was 5 months since I clung to my Mama’s hands as she took her last breaths. I, too, am broken. Sometimes I can put the OK in caps, and sometimes I can’t. I love your statement about having known it in your head and felt it in your heart but never at the same time. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but it describes it perfectly. Yesterday and today have been particularly difficult days. I’m not sure why. I just celebrated my 50th birthday without her. The thought of Thanksgiving and Christmas without her.
I know… as Thanksgiving creeps up I think my mind has a handle on it, but I know my heart doesn’t. I’m trying not to anticipate too much. I’ll be thinking of you, Tammie. Lifting you up.
My dad has alzheimer’s. We had to move him into assisted living after he caused a small fire, with lots of smoke damage, by putting a flashlight on a stove. I live cross country. I can’t see him regularly. I call. He cries. Some days he’s sure who I am. Some days he has a hard time remembering exactly how I’m related to him. But he always cries. Asks me when I’m coming home. Sometimes he remembers I have children, sometimes he remembers I’m married, but he still asks why I moved away. Some days he mumbles and I can barely understand him. But I know I am fortunate he can still talk to me. One day this disease will take that away. I miss my dad, he’s my friend and my father. He’s still here and I miss him so much already and I know that I will miss him more. Thank you God for such a wonderful father. Thank you so much that he misses me even when he doesn’t know who I am, he just knows I am his.
Oh, you are grieving so much before he is even gone. I’m sorry for that heartache, but yes… he will always know you are his. Just as God does for all of us.
When my grief over my broken marriage came in a wave of memories, it was such a balm to know I could find and reread this message of love and assurance. Thank you.
I’m so grateful this helps. Grief comes in so many ways and in so many forms… it is equal opportunity. But so is healing.
HI Sara, I’ve been reading your recent blogs, one which took me to this one about your dad, Mike. When I was in high school, I dated your Uncle B. and we doubled with your Mom and Dad a lot, since your mom and I were in nursing school.. Your Dad was so great. Always smiling, having a good time. I remember those days so well and was terribly shocked and saddened to hear of his death.
Please know that you are in my thoughts and prayers. I connected to your blog from my daughter Sara that you used to work with. Anita