Until it happens to you

Some things you can’t fully understand until they happen to you. There have been two experiences that ring true for me in this regard.

Marriage and losing a parent.

Opposite ends of the spectrum.

Joy and pain.

Beginning and end.

Happiness and heartache.

Peace and sorrow.

Life and death.

I used to have opinions about other people’s marriages, wondering why they did things certain ways. And then I got married. And my eyes were opened. I realized that no one is in your relationship and understands why you do certain things except for you and your spouse. I realized that marriages are intimate and even with your best effort you don’t truly get that until you’re married yourself. This revelation has made me less judgmental and more supportive of the decisions people make in their marriages.

Similarly, I didn’t understand the full depth of grief one could experience when you lose a parent until my daddy died. How can one anticipate the hole that will be left in your heart? The ache that never leaves; it only fades. How can one prepare to have their life turned upside down? To have moments where you wonder how you will continue living life. How can one grasp how lonely the grief journey is? A longing that penetrates deeply; a depth of emptiness that lingers. Always feeling like something is missing.

When my daddy was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer, he asked me to call and let his 8 siblings know. I remember feeling so overwhelmed and yet honored by this task. That he trusted me enough to do this and yet I wondered how I’d get through it. This memory has stuck with me. While at a conference last week, I participated in a storytelling exercise through dear world. During the exercise, I decided to write the story about finding out my daddy had cancer and sharing it with his siblings. As I worked on this and shared with one of the volunteers, the phrase that stood out to me was “Their emotion was real & I was numb”. With each phone call, my aunts and uncles expressed real emotion; sadness, anger, and shock were conveyed when hearing the news of their brother’s diagnosis. And yet after the third time sharing the news, I’d become numb. Not because I didn’t care, but because I was protecting myself. Protecting my heart and soul from the reality of the diagnosis. Protecting myself from the pain. Protecting myself from being angry at God that this happened to my daddy. Protecting.

And that’s part of the reason why I haven’t written for some time about my daddy. Not because I don’t think about him, or care about him, but because I’ve been protecting myself from feeling. Feeling the pain of grief and loss. Protecting myself from the reality that my daddy will miss seeing me hit some personal and professional milestones. Protecting myself from others. Because most people don’t have the capacity to sit with with the pain I carry. Not to heal my pain, but to just be with me and let you feel the pain. We all want a solution, an ending. But with grief, it isn’t like that. I’m not going to wake up one day and all of a sudden be done grieving my daddy. I'm on this journey forever.

Before my daddy died, I’d feel uncomfortable when people would post on social media about their dead parents or talk about their parent’s death. I never knew what to say or how to respond. Like am I supposed to like their post? Or comment? Pretend I didn’t see it? A part of me felt like they should “move on” with their life and live. And then my daddy died and I got it. I finally understood the desire to share your loved one with the world. The yearning to express what this person meant to you. The longing to keep their memory alive. I get it now. And I will always talk about my daddy. Regardless of how uncomfortable or annoyed it makes people. Because now, part of my life is keeping his legacy alive and making sure people remember more than his death, but the way he lived his life. And you’ll never understand that until it happens to you.