The gift of grief
“There is no remedy for love but to love more.”
“And then he died.”
This is the cruel punchline. These words typically bring the joyful, hopeful facial expressions of my captivated listener to a screeching halt.
At this point in my story, I always stammer to find the next words, ones that will assure my own ears and theirs that I’m alright, really. “No, it’s okay!” doesn’t quite convince. “I know, right?” feels too passive. I usually settle on a sigh, a dimmed smile, and a, “yeah…”
Even after four years since my dad died, my uncle George following just six weeks later, I still struggle. I struggle with what to say, think, feel…let alone write.
All of the writing I’d done prior to the last two weeks - always with the intention of writing this book someday - focused on the endless twists and turns that led to the discovery, with just a few sessions of writing to capture select moments that occurred later, and even those were confined to a few happy memories during the two months of blissful ignorance before we found out he was dying.
Truth be told, I’ve struggled with grief since the day of discovery. Even after meeting him and alongside the enchantment and childlike glee of growing acceptance, I grieved.
As remarkable and seemingly magical this story is - this truth, my life - the longing thoughts of what could have been and the anger of injustice often eclipsed my joy. Even before the inevitable prognoses and too-soon-after deaths, I’d felt grief.
BUT! Stick with me here.
Using these four weeks, half of which have passed, to focus on writing - even those heartbreaking pages I’d successfully avoided - has allowed me to reach a vantage point I wasn’t able to reach before now. Allowing myself to remember, recall, and recount the events and feelings that preceded and followed, have changed me, already. In revisiting it all, the extraordinarily good and the best-to-avoid-that bad, I can truly feel just how beautiful this story is. It’s upgraded my gas tank of motivation to finish this book - and trust me, it was already perpetually full.
“And then he died.”
Yes, he did. But so will I someday. And my capacity for loving and being loved has grown massively, because of, not in spite of, my grief. My life will have more depth and meaning and my light can shine brighter, because of, not in spite of, my grief. Having this time and space to really feel this, the full weight of this, will continue to lead to more and deeper love. Love so great I wouldn’t have yet formed the right scales to measure had it crossed my paths before now. And wow, what a gift that is.
Until next Sunday…
Stephanie
P.S. Below are some photos of me and my dad.
May 12, 2020, four days after we met in person.
Bittersweet peek at what could have been. Bobby, circa 1982. Steph, circa 1991.
