No One Told Me I Would Be Happy After You Died
I miss you so much, yet my grief has been seasoned with joy
If you had told me I would be happy after you were gone, I never would have believed you.
I suppose there has been a sense of relief. Both for me and for you. Now, nearly six weeks later, I sometimes forget how heavy it all felt. How I thought I would drown after all those years of giving, giving, giving.
I also sometimes forget what it was like for you. It all became so normal that I forget that your ribs were poking out from beneath your skin. That you could not feed yourself or turn over from one side to another. That you couldn’t even talk on the phone in those last months.
What an enormous relief, Dad, to know you are free from all that suffering.
But this happiness is more than relief. Relief is a gentle feeling, a lightening of the heart. The happiness that I feel is a force, a momentum, a blinding light.
You reminded me how fast it all goes. What did Eli say in that western you would have loved? “We ain’t here but a moment.” It all seemed to be going so slowly when I was a little girl. A teenager. Nothing ever happened fast enough.
