Grief is a tsunami. It is an overwhelming feeling that will forever change you. Grief is a feeling that will knock you down when you are finally feeling “up” again. It will consume your thoughts and your motions. It will become your alarm in the morning and your lullaby at night; that is if you let it.
This week will mark one month since my fathers passing. It has been a month since I last had a conversation with him and last told him I loved him and received a physical response. Never did I think that he would be gone from my life at such a young age and it now has become a very hard reality to grip. I guess I really felt like he would live forever. “Kate, he will live forever” Yes, in a sense he will. He will live within me, my brother and all of those who he shared his life with but still, It doesn’t seem right, it doesn’t seem fair. It is not the same. It still doesn’t seem real most days. How can I possibly even begin to wrap my mind around the idea, the fact, that the man who taught me everything, the strongest and most invincible person I have ever known, is gone….forever? What do I have to do in order to readjust to this new, horrid, reality?
I’ve found myself over this last month telling people that the feeling of grief, of insufferable emotion, comes in waves. “It comes in waves”, is the only logical way I can even try to relay what I am experiencing. There are moments, brief and few, but moments none the less where I forget entirely that anything has happened. I wait and hope for my phone to ring, thinking that eventually it will be him and we will talk and catch up and then life will continue as usual. This obviously hasn’t happened and won’t happen. It is in those moments, when I am forced to remind myself of the agonizing truth that the waves of grief collapse over me.
In the throws of anger, sadness, tears; I am offered a choice. I can either choose to let grief win, to let it destroy my chances of getting the few productive things done that I had planned or I could fight it. I could match the tears of sorrow and pain with a happy thought or memory. I can fight the urge to lay in bed and wallow with the sole thought that this is not what he would want and had he had one more day to live and breathe it would have been spent to its fullest. And sometimes this mantra works, but sometimes it doesn’t.
Sometimes, grief wins. Sometimes, you need to let it. For the sake of your health, you need to cry. You need to be knocked down and overwhelmed with emotions to heal. This is all part of acceptance, of acknowledging the loss and the harshness of the situation. I have to remind myself everyday grief is normal. In those moments that I am honestly too weak to shake the hurt, I remember I am human.