#grief | itsawonderfilledlife

Posts Tagged ‘#grief’

From one Home to Another

Posted in FAMILY, Grief, WONDER, tagged #deathmakesmethinkaboutliving, #fromonehometoanother, #grief, #heliveson, #learningtolivewithgrief, #memoriesofagoodlife, visitingthechildhoodhome on October 20, 2021| 2 Comments »

On March 14, 2020 I had a ticket to fly from the west coast to the east, but then … Covid.

I wrote, a week before scheduled to fly across the country, “from the west coast to the east, from one home to another, my mind begins to prepare for the sights, smells and sounds that will, in all probability, trigger the emotions of grief when I arrive.”

It was to be my first time back, in my province of origin, in the home of my childhood, with the people whom I shared the beginning of life … after the death of my dad in the fall of 2019.

Firsts, after the death of a loved one, can be triggers of grief that still lingers in the heart and mind. They can awaken a loneliness for that individual, as well as for who you were with them … for not only are they gone, but so is the part of you that was loved, adored uniquely by them.

So when I recently boarded the plane headed in the direction of my life’s beginnings, as I returned to my childhood home and family … I was so very aware that there would be one missing from that reunion.

There was a great part of me
that feared
that the weight of his absence
would be crushing …
but it wasn’t.

Though he is no longer there,

no lingering hugs that speak the words of the heart,

no squinty eye smiles from eyes so blue,

no fresh biscuits from the oven,

no information about houses for sale in their area (hints to move ‘back home’)

… he lives on.

I felt his life as my brother offered to drive me from the airport, the long way, so I could see the sights (and as he cringed when I shut the car door too hard).

I felt his life in the lingering embrace of my other brother, surprised to see me standing in his driveway (and in his use of ‘huh’ when he didn’t hear what was said the first time).

I saw his life in my nephews eyes, shining bright.

I heard his life in my niece, as she greeted me with warmth and unhindered excitement.

I felt his life in the stories my mum shared … so many stories that speak of a life … not perfect at all, but a life well lived.

He lives on …

It is a bit disturbing to admit that it wasn’t crushing to return …

but he wasn’t absent, he wasn’t missing.

The best of who he was still is …

it exists in pieces,

shared by each of us.

The seeds of his life have been planted in us and they keep growing,

for he lives on … on both coasts.

One day, while there, I was walking around the streets of the neighborhood of my parent’s home with their dog. A man, walking toward me, said, “is that Daisy?” I nodded and introduced myself. In very basic language, he went on to tell me that he and my dad spoke often. That he was a nice man. That he missed my dad. I told him I miss him too. We walked and talked a bit more … his simple expressions of remembrance of my dad filled my heart … he’s still here, in Bill too.

There was no grief in this visit for me. Only memories of a good life and evidence that the seeds he planted continue to grow.

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Still Searching

Posted in Grief, WONDER, tagged #grief, #holdingon, #ifonlyicouldseeyou, #liveversion, #lookingforthedeadamongtheliving, #memories, #stillsearching on July 13, 2021| 1 Comment »

Isn’t it amazing how little things can take you off in search of something you didn’t even know you were looking for?

A simple social media post had me preoccupied and searching the other day … for over an hour.

The post is one I have seen a few times lately. An image of a person, in their garden, through a window, walking toward their house. What follows is a story, written by the adult child of that person, or their widow/widower. They share that the image is one taken by Google or Apple maps. These images are taken in the past, a year, or two or more ago. The person posting writes how they saved the image, for one day, they know, the address will be updated with a new image … and their loved one will not be in the updated image.

What they have saved is a live version,
of one who is no longer
in the window, the garden.

Well, my curiosity was peeked.

I started on my phone. Immediately finding an image of my childhood home, in summer, in the not too distant past. The care was still parked. The front garden full of growing activity.

Then I noticed the doors to the storage shed opened. I zoomed in for a closer look. The Rollator to the right of the doors. This was no longer a job for my phone. The laptop was opened, the search continued. I moved to look from different angles, zoomed in and out, checked out satellite views, even trying to peer into the back of the property from the street and through the houses behind.

Nothing.

I switched to another mapping website, to no avail.

Though I was not seeking, not needing to see my dad that day, the possibility of a live image of him had built up such a great hope of that possibility. After seeking unsuccessfully, I was rather disappointed. To only have had the opportunity to see him living again. To have had the joy of seeing him and smiling.

Deep down inside
we always seek
for our departed loved ones.
-Munia Khan

Then I remembered a video that I have, from my last visit home. He took my daughter and I to the maple sugar woods. Though I could not find the video, I could hear his voice, after tasting the syrup on the cold snow, “some good” with that characteristic sparkle in his eye.

I guess that once a loved one no longer lives and breathes life’s breath, those who loved are simply still seeking signs of life.

If I could only see you
And once more feel your touch.

Yes, you’ve just walked on ahead of me
Don’t worry I’ll be fine

But now and then I swear I feel
Your hand slip into mine.

-Joyce Grenfell

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You Picked a Fine Time to Leave Me …

Posted in Grief, life, WONDER, tagged #grief, #griefhasnoexpiry, #kennyrogers, #memories, #youpickedafinetimetoleave on March 22, 2020| 8 Comments »

… Lucille

and out of nowhere there it was again … grief.

The death of Kenny Rogers, the playing of his songs, brought grief back, in a flood of emotions and memories.

Grief does not have a lifespan, an expiry date. It does not respect the comfortability of others. It is something one learns to live with, knowing that, at any moment and for no apparent reason, it resurfaces with pent up energy and emotion … developing into tears and the loneliness for one who is gone.

At a certain stage in my dad’s life, Kenny Rogers (before Kenny’s facial plastic surgery) was his doppelganger. It just so happened that my dad also loved his music. He would sing along, attempting to duplicate Kenny’s distinctive husky voice.

My dad loved to sing. One of my memories of eye-rolling as a kid (along with the plaid shorts and the socks that went up to the knees … with the plaid shorts) was how my dad would finish our sentences with lyrics from songs.

It would go like this:

Mom: Don’t count your dirty money at the table …
Dad: They’ll be time enough for counting, when the dealings done

Mom: I was talking to Aunt Ruby this morning …
Dad: Ruby, don’t take your love to town

I have a sweet colleague at work who does this too … I think she might think I am making fun of her when she does it and I point it out, but I love that she does it for it always makes me think of my dad, makes me smile fondly.

It was hearing Roger’s song Lucille that really brought grief to the forefront. It was the words, you picked a fine to leave me, Lucille that did it.

Those of us who loved him are probably all feeling like you picked a fine to leave … We have stuff in our lives that … make us miss him more, lately. We miss him all over again.

At his funeral was a slideshow of photos from his life, our lives. One of the songs that played was Kenny Roger’s singing I will remember you …

Dad, I know I am not alone in saying you picked a fine to leave … I miss you all over again …

You decorated my life
Created a world
Where dreams are a part
And you decorated my life
By paintin’ your love
All over my heart
You decorated my life

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Just Do It

Posted in Grief, life, WONDER, tagged #condolences, #flowersandfunerals, #grief, #justdoit, #supportingrief on February 2, 2020| Leave a Comment »

Grief is awkward … grieving is hard work.

Something that I have never felt that I have done well is to support people when someone dies. Sure I have delivered a casserole, muffins or cookies. I have sent a greeting card (okay … I have thought about it … e v e r y time, but rarely done it). I have gone to the funeral home. I attended celebrations of life and funerals. I have whispered and messaged that I am praying (and, if I said it, I really did do it).

But, I never felt like any of that made a bit of difference …

… then my dad died

and the messages poured in through social media, text and email.

Each note and message were read and received with heart-felt appreciation. This may seem to be the easy way out, but they are not … those short communications (even the emojis) can be the reminders that you do not walk death’s valley alone.

and people showed up at my mum’s house, with meals, hugs and listening ears

Each knock at the door brought someone with something … even those whose hands were empty, for their physical presence brought support and they left carrying part of our burden. The meals erased a need to sustain ourselves, the meals that arrived ready for the freezer alleviated the need to think of tomorrow … for the day at hand had enough to fill a muddled brain.

and people poured into the funeral home to pay respects to our family and to honor the memory of our father, husband, grandfather, friend.

We spent an afternoon and evening receiving guests who shared in our loss, our sorrow. Honestly, at times it felt like a family reunion and there was more laughter than tears. Apparently a saying of ancient Egyptians is “to speak the name of the dead is to make him live again” and those who came to the visiting hours or wake, at the funeral home spoke his name and reminded us that the living and life of our loved one had an impact and that impact lives on, even in the face of death.

and people gathered with us at the funeral, supporting us as we came face to face with the reality of the finality of death.

No one ever wants to go to a funeral, fewer want to participate in a funeral (pallbearers, music leaders, participants), fewer still want to be bidding a loved one adieu at a funeral. To a family member or loved one of a deceased, such participation does not go ignored, unappreciated. They know you don’t want to be there … believe me, their wish to not having to be there is even greater.

and people gave cards and made donations to charities in honor of our loved one.

The day after the funeral my mom and I read through the number of greeting cards and donations made to charities. Some to the one we suggested, some to other organizations. It truly did feel good that our loss could bring gain to organizations and charities, through donations made by others.

and then there were flowers.

Flowers were delivered from workplaces, brightening the foreboding funeral box, centered on the far wall of the funeral home room. When I returned home they arrived from near and far, with short notes offering love, prayers and support. Their beauty and the thoughtfulness they represented provided a gentle home for weary eyes, reminders that beauty still exists, even in the darkness of grief.

and it continues.

Still, messages arrive in the inbox, sometimes from friends, but also from family, who have learned (the hard way) that to hold each other up is to keep our own heads above the tides of grief. My mom has a neighbor who faithfully prows and shovels her driveway and walk. Her brother picks up her mail, takes her to appointments, drops by, regularly, for tea. Visits and calls still happen, offers of drives to church, errands. Whispers of “you are in my prayers.”

Death is so awkward, because it and the grieving of it can take so many forms. Death is so awkward, because it will visit each one of us … un-welcomed, unplanned and life-changing. But, through this recent visit, I have learned that any efforts made by others to cheer, sustain and support those grieving do not go unnoticed or unappreciated. As a matter of fact they are the oxygen masks for those gasping for the breath of life.

So, if you’re ever unsure if what you might offer someone in the midst of grief is valuable … just do it.

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Left Behind

Posted in Grief, life, WONDER, tagged #grief, #leftbehind, #movingthroughgrief, #newyearwithoutyou, #sayinggoodbyeforever, #theroadtolife on January 2, 2020| Leave a Comment »

As this new year approached, my heart grew heavy.

The close of 2019 reminded me that it is the final year my family and I will have lived with our dad, husband, grandfather, friend. 2020 (and the years to come) will not be shared with him … his story ended in 2019, last year.

For some reason this turn of the calendar made the finality of his passing more real than those last moments at his hospital bed, the wake and funeral, even more real than the committal service at the graveside.

It leaves me and us lonely for his presence, his life. It makes a new year, without him, unimaginable. The life that he brought to our lives has left an empty space … a silent pause in a song, an ellipsis (…) at the end of a sentence.

Happy New Year …

We can struggle to say those words, but their message is lost on those trying to imagine a new year, a new day, without one they loved … love. To move into this new year, to own and accept it, to write it on paper or speak it from our lips … well it’s another acknowledgement that it’s really real … that he is gone … and he isn’t coming back.

It is as if accepting the arrival of this new year relegates our loved one into history. As if, while we move forward into the new year, into the future,

his life, he has been left behind, in the past … by us.

It is interesting to me how little comfort faith can be when such grief weighs one down. It is not that I question the existence of God, or heaven or eternity … it is that the loneliness is such that none of that matters, for the selfishness of loss and grief is temporal … now.

It is not, I want the best for you, dearly departed … it is purely that I want you back … selfishly, for me.

For, you see, in reality, my grief is not that my father has been left behind in the years past, but that I, we have been left behind, by him. He, who has always been there for me, for us … he, who had never abandoned us, who would never abandon us … he has gone on, and left us behind … to move forward without him, without the security and direction and unconditional love that he always represented.

We walk forward into this new year, this new future, knowing that we are leaving him behind, that we have been left behind, by him.

Forward is the only way through grief, but lifting ones feet over the starting line is agony.

“Recovery can seem like a betrayal. Passionately, you desire a way back to the lost object (person), but the only possible road, the road to life, leads away.” Hilary Mantel

“He heals the broken hearts and binds up their sorrows.”
Psalm 147:3

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