Yesterday while walking in my neighborhood, I realized how alive and present my father’s spirit is in my life. He was an avid gardener and life-long admirer of nature, and I feel his presence reflected in the beauty and wonder of the outdoors, the sounds and sights of Spring.
He was a daily walker and I feel extra close to him when I am walking. With each step I recall memories of the times we shared and “converse” with him on a heart level about new topics and issues that arise in my life. In life, I talked with him about any number of inconsequential and important things. And now, almost two years after his death, I envision him listening as I consider my new crossroads.
I feel his enthusiastic encouragement, unconditional acceptance of my choices and the comfort of his loving presence. It took some time for me to get here, but I have learned how to walk with my grief.
In 2012, I was at my dad’s bedside as he died, never imagining then how this event would shape my life going forward. He courageously prepared my family members by talking with each one about his eternal love and unique appreciation for our presence in his life. He was ready to go when the time came.
My family celebrated his life with a special and uplifting event of spontaneous participation and remembrance. I felt the love and support of many as I moved forward into the following days and weeks. But my dad was really and truly gone. His voice on the phone, his warm hugs and silly noises, his joyful smile and guiding presence, all were no longer accessible in a real and physical sense.
After a few weeks, the buoying support ebbed, and I began to feel some strong and surprising feelings: Anger. Despair. Desertion. A whooshing, jumbled tumult of grief washed over me and knocked me down. What could I do now? How could I go forward and surmount the emotions that I felt?
And then I remembered: In his last few days of life, Daddy (as I always called him) suggested that I write. So, I began to journal a little bit every few days, recording my current state of emotions and recounting to myself his end-of-life story. I wrote some, cried some, reread and cried some more each time I returned to write the story. I took my time to get from the beginning to the end, and along the way I began to accept and integrate my father’s physical absence.
Releasing my tears helped me feel better, and in the weeks and months that followed, I began to feel much improved. I was walking a new walk, transforming my grief into words on a page.
In 2013, I published our story as a short book called Daddy, this is it. Being-with My Dying Dad and began a whole new journey of grief-inspired purpose. Daddy is no longer here and I can’t change that fact. What I can do is choose my response to the prevailing sorrow that I feel. My choices create new purpose in my life, as I reach out each day to introduce my book to grief and bereavement support professionals, chaplains in hospice and palliative care settings and counselors of those who care for their dying loved ones.
Sometimes I receive affirming reviews, notes of gratitude and requests for articles and blog posts. Some readers send me their own stories, trusting me to share their grief and loss. I am filled with awe and gratitude for these developments. This response to my intimate little story inspires me to write more on the topic of grief and loss, to help others learn to communicate around death, dying and the end of life.
Now I feel connected to a vast community of grieving individuals and support workers. My loss increasingly becomes an integrated, accepted and motivating part of me. I do not strive to “get over it” or “move on” from my father’s death. Instead, I awaken each morning confident that Daddy is walking with me into each new adventure I face. I celebrate the love, approval and joy we shared in life by acting on the grief-inspired purpose that is alive and well in me.