My Greatest Teacher

MY GREATEST TEACHER

Grief. You can’t walk around it. Or over it. Or set it aside for the day because you simply don’t feel like dealing with it. That is not how grief works. Grief is real, and raw…and it demands its moment.

My dad died 33 years ago, when I was nine years old. He had multiple myeloma, which he fought valiantly for four plus years, but the cancer ultimately won the battle (by the way, I hate cancer). There are many things I don’t remember about his illness or the many trips he and my mom would take to the Mayo Clinic while my sister and I stayed home with grandparents. There are also the memories I do have, cling to actually, about my dad…as a kind, compassionate man, as an avid, nature-loving outdoorsman, as a “life of the party” kind of jokester, and as a friend to everyone he met. And I am lucky enough to have an aunt (very similar in description to my dad!) who loves to share stories about my dad and has made sure over the years that my sister and I remember and celebrate him.

Grief. It may be one of the few things that does not heal with time. It changes and rearranges itself over time and you become more accustomed to your actual loss, but grief demands its moment.

I have found myself experiencing some less than comfortable emotions over the past several months. Anxiety, vulnerability and fear to name a few. I’ve had moments where the emotion seemed relentless, like a knocking on my door that wasn’t going to stop until I answered. Alright, alright, I’m opening the door.Through tear-filled, vulnerable, often painful conversations, I’ve learned what I probably already knew…it has been grief knocking on my door. And I’m going to give it the moment it demands.

At the age of nine, a child is still primarily oriented to family. They are also starting to realize their own mortality and vulnerability.   “They are more understanding of what the loss may mean to others and they are able to show empathy. And nine year olds are more likely to understand the financial and social impacts that a death can have on their family, which can cause additional worry, and they may try to take on adult roles in an attempt to help.” –The Bradley Center for Grieving Children and Their Families

I remember growing up in a big hurry in some ways and remaining an innocent, fun-loving, outgoing kid in other ways. I did try to take on adult roles; I worried about my mom and my sister constantly. I worried about what the loss of my dad would mean for my family. For my future. For my life.

But I had huge support around my dad’s death. I can remember neighbors and friends dropping off food all the time; I remember my dear grandmother (who had just lost her own firstborn son) telling me it was not my fault and that “Your daddy didn’t want to leave.” I remember crying and kicking and screaming and my mom squeezing me tightly to her body and telling me to “Let it out honey, let it out.” I grieved as best I could. I was pissed off, I was so sad, and I got to a point where I didn’t want to talk about it because I was different. Although this was probably appropriate for my age at the time, I now realize I probably needed to talk more over the past 33 years. I needed to give grief the moment that it demands.

It’s not surprising that grief is demanding its moment…as my school-age children all hover around the age I was when I lost my dad. My middle child, who turned nine on Sunday, looked at me with her dancing blue eyes the other day and said, “Mom, I’m going to be nine in less than a week!” She could hardly contain her excitement. As I looked at her sweet innocent face I found myself overcome with sadness for a moment. I was thinking to myself, ‘Wow, she’s too young to experience that kind of loss,’ and I felt sad for her. In that moment I realized it wasn’t her I was feeling sad for…it was my nine-year old self. I wanted to squeeze that little girl and tell her that everything really was going to be ok.

And that is true…I am ok. I am more than ok. I’ve learned more than I could imagine about myself, about who I really am, and about the many ways that my kids and I carry a piece of my dad with us everywhere we go, everyday.   I will continue to move through this grieving process, not around it, not over it. As a very dear friend recently said to me: “I’m glad you are listening to yourself and working through it all. Grief does not leave – it is there for life to remind us of life. Honor it, bash it, but do not ignore it.”

I was sent the following excerpt from a friend and I have read and reread and examined this beautiful piece by Max Strom, a teacher, speaker and author.

Grief demands its moment

Grief is such a powerful emotion, and I dare say that it is the emotion that we are the most frightened to feel. When a tragedy strikes, many will do everything they can to avoid the feelings exploding in their chest. Some try and cover their feelings with anger and even convert their anger to vengeance. Others will shut down as if feeling nothing. In both choices the grief is suppressed. Buried. But grief demands its moment, its time. We all need to embrace our grief and let it purify us. But we fear it so much. This is because we often believe that our grief would destroy us when fully experienced, that we could not survive. We see no good in it—only indescribable pain. I believe that grief does offer gifts, and one powerful gift is the gift of piercing clarity. It is like a cold blue flame that burns away everything to its essence until you are overtaken by the harsh clarity of who you really are as an emotional being. You are in full witness of your wounds, your strengths, and your failures. It also gives you, for a time, a special kind of vision, a vision of true love, a vision that cuts through everything except that which is absolutely true, revealing the one you love the most fiercely in the depth of your bones. You realize whom you truly have an intimate relationship with and with whom you do not. In my darkest hours of extreme grief, these were the things that I could clearly witness. Love stripped bare.

So, with an open and vulnerable heart, I plan to embrace my grief and let it purify me. The gifts that grief has already offered me are nothing short of extraordinary. I feel that sense of clarity more and more with each vulnerable moment. And I notice my strengths and my weaknesses in a different light, a more loving and accepting light. And what I know to be absolutely true is this: I miss my dad every single day and that will never stop; I feel his unconditional love for me in the depths of my soul and that will never stop; I will continue to grow and learn more about who I am – some days this will be easier than others; and I will embrace my loved ones in the way that I was meant to, fiercely and compassionately.