I lost my dad last week. As I sit here, seeing those words typed on the page and the cursor blinking at me, it still feels surreal, and so raw. Being a child of older parents (my dad was 87) this day was a fear of mine since I was very little. I remember coming home early from many sleepovers, crying from homesickness, worried that something was going to happen to my parents while I was gone. However, the saying “worry doesn’t take the pain out of the tomorrow, it takes the joy out of today”, couldn’t be more true. No matter how much you worry, or try to “prepare” mentally, the pain will be immense. Don’t let fear rob you of your joy in the present.
My dad always had an optimistic outlook, a great sense of humor and a sassy smile on his face. He taught me to see the bright side in everything, always consider where others are coming from, and never take life too seriously. He also taught me to use power tools, which I’m so grateful for and always made me feel a bit cooler. We never had much money so he’d spend months building me things by hand, a custom desk that fit under our stairs to do my homework, a playhouse in our backyard, shelves and barns for my toy ponies. Fun fact: he cut his fingers off several times during his various projects, but they always reattached them. One finger ended up getting skin cancer later on and had to be amputated, and he always joked that they should’ve left it off in the first place lol.
He wasn’t perfect by any means, I learned from his mistakes as well. My dad was actually absent for most of my adolescence. He fell into a deep depression after my nephew committed suicide, and didn’t really come out of his room for most of my junior high/ early high school years. I share this because sometimes we hold onto stories about the people in our lives that hold us back from moving on and seeing opportunities for joy. Mark and I always say to each other, “Everyone is doing the best that they can from their level of consciousness”. I could have resented his absence, but as I got older I was able to have empathy for him in what was obviously an excruciating time in his life. I didn’t hold bitterness toward him, which allowed our relationship in the last decade to blossom into something new that was beyond special to me. We formed a beautiful bond and I’m so grateful I was open to experiencing it.
The last couple of years were difficult. Becoming a parent to your parent is a painful transition, it can be incredibly overwhelming, but it is also ultimately a gift. If you are going through this or something similar my heart goes out to you. As I mentioned in last month’s “Hello”, the more hard things we handle, the more we realize our capacity for handling hard things. As a friend told me, when our capacity for holding the hard expands, likewise does our capacity for holding the GOOD. As above, so below.
I am absolutely overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support from friends, family and even strangers in this time. So many people sharing kind words, prayers, lighting candles in his honor and more.
Of all the beautiful messages shared, one really stuck out to me, “May you always feel his love in the simple and beautiful things in life.” It’s a reminder to not let grief or loss harden our hearts to the beauty around us, but rather allow us to expand into it further. If you’re missing anyone, I wish this for you as well.
Xx,
