To all of those who have lost (and to the rest of you who will):
One of the stream of consciousness thoughts I had when I found out my Dad died was “Summer cannot come. I can’t do it without him.” And then I remember thinking, “Oh that’s in 8 months, I’ll be fine by then.” Well summer did come and here we are. And no Kristen from 8 months ago, we are not fine. We are functioning and smiling and living, but we are not fine.
I have never once dreaded summer, but this year it felt like I was trying with all of my might to stop the weather from warming up, from the sunscreen filling up the shelves and from people asking what my summer plans were. Summer was my Dad’s favorite time of year and Ogunquit, his favorite place. And July 4th was like his own holiday. I had no interest in experiencing any of that shit when he wouldn’t be there.
The fireworks, the lobster bake, the reservation plans, the texts about the tides; it was a build up to all of us being together. All of us under one roof, the dance of sharing the same space, all 12 of us plus the 3 dogs. The welcomed monotony of the summer days. The generous way he and my mom opened up their house, the love and grace he welcomed us all with… damn, did I take it all for granted? Did I read those texts half assed and write back a quick “Thanks D!” Yup. I did. Because he was a constant and I didn’t know he’d be gone and summer would never be the same.
The week I was dreading finally came and went. The grief welled up to the brim and my heart felt like it was breaking most of the time. The grief felt worse than it has in a few months, the heaviness was almost unbearable at times. But I’m good at it now… I can cry and laugh almost simultaneously. I can run horrific images through my brain and carry on a conversation about what we want for dinner. I can sit in the uncomfortable restlessness when it knocks at my heart and consumes my body. I don’t run from it.
Usually the anticipation of doing something is worse than the actual doing. But not this time. The “doing” of summer in OGT was actually quite excruciating. Going to The Backyard and ordering coffee and cinnamon donut muffins, the smell of the beans from the coffee shop he liked and I didn’t, ordering my favorite drink from Leavitt without him asking me what it was called (It’s No Friends at Dusk, Dad), walking to the beach and standing at the ocean while we watched the kids in the waves. Sitting on the front porch, hearing the aggressive way he opened up a trash bag. Listening to him call my kids the nicknames he had for them, and hearing them say “Poppy” a million times a day to show him or ask him something. All of it just gone. No warning, no one last time, just over.
The overwhelming sense of longing and heartache walking around “his” town and going to all of his favorite places without him was like experiencing those early days after his death yet again. It was like my brain forgot that he had died, searching for him again, thinking “Where’s Dad? Oh is that him?” Waiting for him to magically appear on the front porch or yell “Sista!” from the other room. It didn’t happen. Because he’s still dead, brain. But it makes sense, right? I hadn’t experienced summer in Ogunquit without my Dad and our brains learn by experiencing. It will do anything to place him until it finally learns, oh he REALLY isn’t here. I learned that because every time I thought he may show up, he didn’t. And now now my brain knows, Dad doesn’t live in Ogunquit in the summer or the winter or anytime.
There is a sense of peace that comes along with experiencing the firsts, kind of like a relief that those firsts are over. And then there’s a pang in your heart, kind of like FUCK. Now what? Now we just accept that we live every summer without him? That he really is NEVER coming back? Like literally no chance? Well, yeah. Little by little, we do. In our own time, in our own way.
I burst into tears in the middle of a restaurant and you may stay quiet or overcompensate with jokes and laughs. I go from wanting a hug to wanting to be alone like the flip of a switch and you may never want a hug or need more than you can get. I get real frustrated when people stay stupid shit like, “Is it still hard for you?”, but it may not bother you. I like dark humor, you may be appalled by it. I look for signs and believe in them, you may see that as bullshit. I smell his T shirts and find comfort in wearing them to bed, you may think that’s overkill.
And that my lovely people, is the cool thing about grief. There are no rules. No timeline. Everyone will grieve differently. Grief is raw and vulnerable and unexpected and can take your breath away. It can knock you to your knees or whisper to you as you carry on a conversation. Grief is wildly unpredictable and overwhelming. It’s silently all consuming at times. A flood of memories and images and thoughts and feelings, many that we keep to ourselves. Grief doesn’t need to be lonely, but can be if you let it. And that’s the fucked up beauty of it. It’s really all up to you how you experience it. The only necessity is that you actually do experience it, you don’t run or hide from it… because IT.WILL.FIND.YOU. At the least expected time, maybe years from now, it will show up.
So grieve, baby. You’re okay. Grieve it all- the would haves, the what ifs, the past, the future, the sounds, the places, the smells. In your own time and in your own way, just feel it all. Because in the end, the depths of the grief and heartache will help you come back up for air and feel the love and happiness more deeply. You’ll make new memories with all of the love and appreciation in your heart for the old ones.
Don’t let our culture pull you away from the natural process of grieving, whether you’re a new griever or an old pro. You have the right to grieve. So speak your grief.
And find joy, even in the presence of grief. It's okay, they can live together in your big, beautiful heart.
“Grief and love are sisters, woven together from the beginning. Their kinship reminds us that there is no love that does not contain loss and no loss that is not a reminder of the love we carry for what we once held close.”
“When our grief cannot be spoken, it falls into the shadow and re-arises in us as symptoms. So many of us are depressed, anxious, and lonely. We struggle with addictions and find ourselves moving at a breathless pace, trying to keep up with the machinery of culture.”
- The Wild Edge of Sorrow
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