Grief – It Comes Out of Nowhere

It comes out of nowhere. You’re going along with your normal every day tasks, and you come across something common. Usually something extremely common. It could be an email address. It could be an old photo or an old note long forgotten. Or maybe, as it was for a friend recently, a bottle of A1 Steak Sauce!

Whatever the trigger – suddenly you’re hit by a wave. A wave of thoughts. A wave of memories. A wave of sadness. Sometimes the wave contains just a hint of comfort, sometimes it contains enough comfort to make you smile.

I was hit by one of these waves a few days ago. It was an every day task – I was searching for an email address of a family member I hadn’t contacted in a while. While I was searching I saw my Dad’s name. There in my address book. One name among many.

And suddenly, before I could stop it, there was a flood of memories. Memories of Dad, well into his 60s struggling to learn to use a computer. And in his 70s learning to use email. The memory of the day he called my husband to ask the ultimate “newbie” question: “Is the enter key the same as the return key?”

And then it turned to comfort, even pride. Dad never stopped learning. Well, into his 60s and 70s he was still learning to do new things. He did learn to use email. He did learn to use his computer – at least well enough to send a Christmas letter each year. A number certainly wasn’t going to stop him. Even as I type this. I am flooded with memories of Dad reading incessantly. Reading to learn more. He never felt he’d mastered anything.

Always he was reading.

Always he was learning.

There is pain and there is comfort in those memories. Pain that he’s not here to talk to anymore. Pain that I can’t ask his perspective on issues I’m currently facing.

But, there is comfort too. Because in some ways I know what his answer would be. I’m pretty sure he’d have his own perspective and opinion. But, he would say “Read about it. Read what the Bible says. Read what biblical scholars say.” And of course, he’d also probably recommend a book or two.

And there is comfort in knowing that answer.

It comes out of nowhere – the pain and the comfort.

Photo Source: Vama Veche @ http://www.sxc.hu/photo/781937

Books, Books and More Books

I was at my Dad's yesterday, cleaning. Well, really, clearing out stuff and reorganizing books.

Oh my, the man had a lot of books.

I mean A LOT of books! We could probably stock a store with the books in his house.

We've got a whole shelf full of Max Lucado, another of Philip Yancey, as well as bunches of books by Charles Spurgeon, Billy Graham, John Maxell, William Barclay, Chuck Swindoll, Norman Vincent Peale - I can't remember them all.

What does it say about a man who has 4 stacks 2 feet high of presidential biographies?

His living room floor is currently covered in books as we try to sort out what's what.

We've found...

...Chicken Soup for "Every Soul Known to Man"

...Biograhies of everyone from Madeline Albright, Jackie Robinson's, John Calvin, Michael J Fox (that one really surprised me), and Robert the Bruce!

...A whole shelf of gardening books

...8 inches of Louis Lamour - after we'd already cleand those out (we thought!).

...60 different Bibles! (some very, very old Bibles that belonged to my grandparents, many different translations)

...My dad's first pair of shoes (why were these kept with the books??)

...World Book Encyclopedias from 1970s plus every year book since!

... and many hundreds more that we haven't begun to go through yet.

(long sigh) I think this process is going to take a while.

And what on earth are we going to do with them all once we get them organized??

Happy Father's Day

As some of you know, my father passed away last October. So for me, Father's Day this year is shaping up to be difficult in some ways, easier than I expected it to be in others.

In memory of my father I wanted to post some of my favorite pictures of him.

Notice the pen in the pocket - he always had a pocket protector with him. We found a stack of 10 extras in his desk at the house!


Happy Father's Day, Dad. We miss you.

The Vacant Stare

We took the kids to dinner at Pizza Hut the other night. The son had been asking at least twice a week for the past month, "Can we go to Pizza Hut?" So, yesterday, there was a little extra in the food fund and hubby suggested we finally take the plunge and go. I didn't have a clear plan for dinner and there wasn't anything that just "had-to-be-cooked-tonight-or-it-will-go-bad." So we went.

We ran into some friends there that we haven't seen in a long time. The son was super-excited to see his soccer pal. So, we chatted a few minutes and then moved on to our own table and they moved on to the next thing on their schedule.

We spent a little time figuring out what everyone wanted, and then getting the kids into an activity that would keep them occupied until the food came.

And then my husband interrupted my thoughts, "What's wrong?"

I shook my head, "Nothing, why?"

"You weren't here. You were somewhere else."

"Just thinking about Dad."

There's a lot of that going on ... just thinking about Dad.

Sometimes it's flashes from the hospital. Or the second hospital. Or the third hospital. Or the hospice.

Sometimes it's memories of growing up. Or memories of being grown and sharing the memories of childhood.

Sometimes it's trying to decide, "How would Dad have responded to that?"

His birthday was yesterday.

He would have been 82.

I miss him.

Permission to Grieve

Today is shaping up to be one of those thoughtful days. They come every so often, without planning, without announcing themselves ahead of time, they pop up and push me back into my chair.

I didn't expect it, but I can't say I'm surprised either. It's been almost two full months since my father died. Tomorrow is my mom's birthday - she died 8 years ago. And, today I'm home alone. The kids are at school, hubby's at a meeting all day.

I'm home.

Alone.

With my thoughts.

And my grief.

Something about getting close to anniversaries, and having time alone seems to bring out my grief. Today, in the shower, it was a flood of memories; well not really a flood, more like a movie trailer where the highlights flash before you without any continuity. Anyone watching for the first time wouldn't understand, but those who have seen the movie know whats happening in the moment, what happened before, and whats going to happen after. It tends to bring up many emotions.

... The family meeting when they told us they couldn't do more to treat him ... Watching him lay there in the hospital bed seemingly sleeping, but not really knowing ... his doctor's face ... another doctor's face ... the tone of his voice in a brief conversation years before (the words elude me) ... the doctor commenting, "his nurse is highly invested in his care" .. the male nurse who took extra time to be sure he was not just taken care of medically, but comfortable too ... my brother's face as we talked casually while waiting for doctors to come ... my sister asking the incredibly brave question, "Could he be cared for at home?" ... and more .... and more ...

How can anyone else understand? Honestly -- they can't. Every relationship is different. Every person's grief is different. My grief, my memories are different from my brother's. They are different from my sister's, though we do share some memories. Our reactions to our loss are different. And our grief is different from others who have lost their father. Because our father was different. Our relationships were different.

I've been told, give yourself permission to grieve. This is incredibly wise, freeing advice. It was first given to me after my mother's very sudden death in June 2000. A kind, caring friend sent me a series of books (Special Care Series) by Doug Manning of In-Sight Books. I cannot begin to tell you how helpful this series of books were for me at that incredibly difficult time.

And so, as I find myself walking this road again, I've begun to re-read them. The first booklet, "Discovering Permission to Grieve" comes about a month after the death. It reminded me to go ahead and grieve as I want to grieve. Allow yourself to feel and express the pain. Do not hold it in or try to pretend that it's less than it is. Grieve. In whatever manner works best for you. Grieve.

It also encourages you to find friends with whom you can grieve. People who don't judge. Who don't limit your grief. People who will above all, listen.

But, I find myself in a place where life is busy. Incredibly busy. My friends, my family, the people around me, even Christian friends, they are busy. They have their own lives, their own issues going on. I don't want to intrude on them. And, they wouldn't understand (that's what I tell myself) . Because grief is very personal. It is different for me than it is for them. Can I really begin to describe all that's going on in my head? in my heart? I don't think I have words for that. They just won't come.

But, I need to grieve. I need to express this pain. I need to get it out or I may explode.

So, here I am. Grieving on the Internet. Will I do this again? I don't know. Probably. Writing seems to be cathartic for me. I think it helps. I think taking the time to write it out forces my brain to slow down long enough that I can actually find some words to express the pain.

So, for me ... for now ... for this moment ... grieving on the Internet -- works for me.