One Month

  

 

As much as I wish that it wasn't, grieving the loss of my dad is a very real part of who I am now. The flood of emotions that have consumed me for the past month have been paralyzing at times. I wake up in the morning and go to bed at night thinking about how much I just miss him. How I wish that I could call him and tell him how much I love him. How I wish that I could hear his voice one more time.

When my dad had cancer, we were ready to say goodbye. He'd been suffering for two years with no visible silver lining until we found Dr. Bains in New York. This time, though, we had no warning, no time to plan, no opportunity to say those last goodbyes. That theory of fight or flight? I chose to fight when I found my dad. It was time to put on my big girl britches and take control. Of course, this was a coping mechanism. As expected, that fighting mentality would only last so long before I finally began to come to terms with the fact that my dad is gone.

When I try to retrieve memories of my dad, I'm confronted by a white blur in my head. I know that the memories will come with time, but my god is it painful to not be able to get to them right now. One of the biggest comforts for me has been when others share memories of my dad (For instance, when CP remembered the first time he came to meet my parents for dinner at their house, and how strange he thought it was that they didn't really ask him any questions. Turns out I had begged my parents not to interrogate my new boyfriend!). I’m sure that some people assume that those grieving might not want to talk about the person that they've lost, but it seems impossible for me not to talk about the person that was such a pillar of my life for twenty-seven years.

This timely article really hits on a lot of accurate feelings and thoughts that I've been having:

"Do be there. Some people think that those who experience trauma need space to sort things through. Assume the opposite. Most people need presence. The Woodiwisses say they were awed after each tragedy by the number of people, many of whom had been mere acquaintances, who showed up and offered love, from across the nation and the continents. They were also disoriented by a number of close friends who simply weren’t there, who were afraid or too busy. Anna and Catherine’s father, Ashley, says he could detect no pattern to help predict who would step up and provide the ministry of presence and who would fumble. Neither age, experience nor personal belief correlated with sensitivity and love."

It's easy to jump to the conclusion that people are no longer thinking about you and what you're going through when they're not in touch. While I know that this isn't always the case, it has meant the world to me that people have checked in continuously to just let us know that they're thinking of us.

"I’d say that what these experiences call for is a sort of passive activism. We have a tendency, especially in an achievement-oriented culture, to want to solve problems and repair brokenness — to propose, plan, fix, interpret, explain and solve. But what seems to be needed here is the art of presence — to perform tasks without trying to control or alter the elemental situation. Allow nature to take its course. Grant the sufferers the dignity of their own process. Let them define meaning. Sit simply through moments of pain and uncomfortable darkness. Be practical, mundane, simple and direct."

There is definitely a propensity among our society to want to explain why these types of things happen. The fact of the matter is, though, there truly is no reason or explanation. Do I feel fortunate to have had my dad for as long as I did? Of course. Am I forever grateful that he was able to walk me down the aisle at our wedding and hand me off to an incredible man that is equally as loving and honest as my dad was? Absolutely. But does the whole situation seem grossly unfair and make me want to scream? Yes. Do I selfishly mourn over the future moments and memories that he won't be there for? Yes.

But life goes on. This is something that I really struggled with in the days immediately following the loss of my dad. I felt like the whole world needed to pause and experience the gravity of the fact that he was gone. Yes, I realize that this is not a sensible thought - however, the fact that millions of other people were continuing on with their everyday lives while we were suffering through an immeasurable loss was devastating. The thought that we needed to somehow continue on without my dad was, and still is, equally as agonizing.

Naturally, there are breakdowns. There are moments of anger, sadness, and misery. That being said, there are also moments of hope and optimism. While my dad isn't physically with us, he's undoubtedly here.  I know the days of grieving are long and far from over, however, I'm hopeful that I can continue to honor my dad and the incredible qualities that he possessed as we march forward. While his death has been the most difficult thing that I’ve ever had to come to terms with, it has also reinforced the fact that there are truly incredible people on this Earth that are going to help us adjust to this new normal.

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)

(all photos by Julie Lim)