I miss my dad.
When I’m working in the yard, or–as I discovered–painting walls, I feel like I’m sharing time with him. Naturally, I will experience grief the instant I realize that it’s his words I hear in my thoughts as I’m cutting in the edges. He was the one who taught me to do that—forever ago.
He also taught me, if I’m to make something, do something for others, or perform a simple task such as dish washing, then I should take pride in my work.
Ha! The little perfectionist that sits on my shoulder took that lesson a bit too much to heart. However, it has served me well on many occasions, and I have finally learned to keep my mouth shut when others aren’t doing it my way. Well, except for my husband.
Next month, will be six years since we said goodbye to my dad. Actually, if we count all the time he was stuck in a mind full of confusion, and not knowing who we were, the time has been much longer.
I found that grief is a process that continues. There isn’t a time limit. Not to discourage anybody living through the process of grief, it never seems to end, but we adapt to a new way of living. Our loved ones are with us in the love we feel in our hearts, the lessons they taught us, and the memories of shared experiences.
My personal favorite is having a dream with one of my loved ones in it. Even tough it was a dream, they were there to share it with me.
My choice of dealing with my grief, is to do something my dad would be proud of.
Do something my sister would have laughed while doing.
Pull on the determination my grandma taught me when I get into a pickle.
As for my brother, hmmmm…being my big brother, he tortured me most of my childhood. He liked music that I didn’t hear any musical notes–but I have to give him a break–if it wasn’t David Cassidy or Donny Osmond, it wasn’t music. Two of my children could have been raised by him. They share many of the same interests. Just as my brother played the chords to Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven, so did our oldest son–thirty years later. Just as my brother was thrilled about Dr. Who, so is our daughter. Because of this, my memory of him will remain strong.
My tears? When I have them, it isn’t for my loss, but for the sweet memories I have of them. Sure, I miss their physical presence, and to be able to hear their voices, but they are in my every day life in the things I do and enjoy.
Grief may not be fleeting, but life can eventually be enjoyed a different way.
May you find some peace today.