Sunday, November 27, 2011


If my Dad were here today, I'm certain I wouldn't think a thing about it and I would take him for granted.  Much like I did eleven years ago and one day before that.  The absence of my father has been something so grand that I have struggled with it almost every single day since. 

Initially after Dad died, nothing in the universe felt normal.  I was in a fog and a haze and I remember at the end of every day being thankful that somehow I had managed to survive another one.  It was inconceivable that I would make it to recognize a 'year' marker- let alone eleven of them.  I never thought I would be able to have any kind of regular routine again.  The mourning was huge, powerful and overwhelming.

And yet here I sit, eleven years later, able to focus and continue.  I must admit I've been dreading this week.  But still functioning.  I no longer wake up multiple time in the night to cry.  I laugh without being overwhelmed with guilt.  I have children who never met my father on earth, and I can finally talk to them about him without instantly crying.  Very rarely do I feel the incredible pressure in my chest that I used to experience several times a day.  Not to say my eyes don't still frequently shed tears for the loss of that man, I suppose it's just getting 'easier'- if that's even the right term.

When dad first died, for several many years I would dream about him.  Sometimes it seemed so real, like he had never died.  After several years, even in my dreams, I knew he had died.  But I would purposely try to stay asleep so that I could be with him longer.  Because I knew when I woke up he would be gone again.  It has been years since I have 'seen' him in my dreams, which is good and bad I suppose.  Sometimes, seeing him while sleeping made me miss him even more. 

Grief is a nasty little beast.  Life will never be normal again- but I have settled into a new normal.  One without my Dad.  One where my mom is a widow and my children only have one grandpa that they know.  One where my dad never answers the phone when I call and on his birthday in August I no longer have to struggle with what to buy for him.  I so wish we still had the old normal- the one with him in it.  But alas- we don't get to call the shots.

I rest my soul in knowing that there is a promise for reunion.  And I am thankful that we serve a Lord that will hold us close until then.  But I still miss my Dad.


Sharon said...

I'm so sorry, Mynde. I have grown to somehow KNOW that death is just a transition and tho I can't see him and he can't participate with us physically anymore, there are ways in which he can and does make his presence known.........and sometimes that is in what we call 'dreams'. And you are right, my dreams of him are rare now too and I think that's because I have accepted the fact that this is what happened and it was hurtful and still at times can be -- especially if I keep trying to 'live' there and not here. You know, I believe that after we're done here that we are allowed to make sure those we love are okay and then there are other things God needs us to do to fulfill his scheme of things.

I remember in one of the dreams I had several years ago wondering if he knew he was dead and so, while he was hugging me I asked him 'Dale, do you know you're dead?' and he jerked back so suddenly and exclaimed in that way he always did when he knew positively for sure 'Well Y-e-e-s-s-s!!' As if it offended him that I would think he didn't know. I have to chuckle about that --- however, it woke me up and I sat straight up in bed and I knew then that there is so much we cannot on this side humanly understand and so we have to have what religion calls 'faith'.

I wish I could fix your hurt but you must be able to do that yourself. When I need your Dad's love, it comes to me but I must be still to know it.

I will pray for a quiet spirit and healing for your grief.

Love, Mom

Sharon said...

Oh, it just occurred to me that maybe my comment might be 'criticizing grief' and please if it is and I'm not aware I didn't intend that. I just feel bad that you feel bad and I love you.

Mom Again