Living through the unimaginable

Living through the unimaginable. That’s what the past 2 years have felt like. It might seem naive, but I never thought my daddy would get cancer. It just seemed like something that would bypass him. So when we received his diagnosis of stage 4 colon cancer, I was devastated. Everything moved so fast. I never imagined it to be so bad, but it was. My daddy asked me to call his 8 siblings and a few close family members to let them know the horrific news. At first I felt like a robot, going through the motions and repeating the same script each time. But as I sat outside in front of the hospital, I remember taking a breath and sitting with the gravity of the news I was sharing. It was heart wrenching. I didn’t want to believe what I knew was true. My daddy was dying.

For 9 months I gracefully cared for my daddy as he bravely fought colon cancer. I loved being his caregiver. I loved being able to take him to most of his chemotherapy appointments. I loved him living with us & spending so much time together. I loved that he was able to teach me how to golf. I loved watching Wheel of Fortune & Jeopardy with him in the evenings. I just loved being able to love him in such tangible ways.

Even as I loved all those things, watching him slowly die daily and then grieving his death has been awful. I never imagined that grief would rip my heart out. Nobody prepares you to grieve. Most people are uncomfortable even talking about death and grief. So here I am trying to navigate grief with no roadmap while still being a wife, PhD student, sibling, and friend. I’m convinced I still haven’t figured it out even though most people see me being seemingly functional. However, most people don’t see it all.

What people don’t see are the days I don’t get out of bed. The ways in which depression plagued me for most of the summer.

What people don’t see is the depth of the grief I experience. The grip of grief is so tight that at moments I feel like I can’t breathe.

What people don’t see are the many moments I’ve cried in the kitchen. As I’m preparing a meal and remember all the dishes my daddy taught me how to prepare.

What people don’t see is the fog that grief has produced in my life. The thick fog that makes me slower at every task and makes everything blurry.

What people don’t see is that my mind is never fully present. Because no matter where I’m at, something always reminds me of my daddy.

What people don’t see is that I carry my grief with me everyday. Sometimes the weight of it is too much to bear and other days it feels light. However, it’s always with me.

There are so many things people don’t see, can’t understand, and won’t experience because they thankfully have not experienced the devastating pain of losing one or both parents. Even those who have lost one or both of their parents can’t fully understand my experience because each of us are different and grieve in different ways.

So, I wrote my way out.

I wrote my out of the shame of talking about my daddy too much. I will protect his legacy. I will write about him. I will talk about him. And if that’s too much for people, then that’s their baggage to deal with, not mine.

I wrote my out of despair. Wondering what I want my life to be about, who I want to be in the world, and what I want my legacy to be.

I wrote my out of silence. Vowing to not grieve in isolation. Knowing I’m not the only one who experienced loss and that my words might empower someone else to speak their own.

I wrote my way out. Many entries no other eyes but mine will ever see.

And sometimes I couldn't write, because as the lyrics from Lin-Manuel Miranda’s hit musical, Hamilton, so eloquently says, “There are moments that the words don't reach, there is suffering too terrible to name”. There were moments where my grief had me trapped, took my voice, and left me speechless. Because when you live through the unimaginable, there will never be enough words to describe your pain.

And yet, my faith reminds me that Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal. I know Earth was never my daddy’s home. I know he is with Jesus in heaven. And even in the comfort of this truth, my heart still breaks and my soul still weeps.