As I have grown older, so has my grief. With that comes judgment from others, wondering how I could still be grieving someone who passed away nineteen years ago.
Those who pass judgment often have never experienced loss. Unfortunately, death does not discriminate. And one day, they will inevitably lose someone and understand that grief does, in fact, last forever.
These people judge because they fear the inevitable. They want you to tuck your grief into your back pocket and hide it from the world, as if they are saying, “Don’t get your grief all over me. I might catch it.”
It’s frightening for people to realize that life is fleeting and the people they love won’t be around forever. It’s equally daunting to acknowledge that they will miss them for just as long. Letting that feeling be so real is challenging.
It’s difficult for people to comprehend grief.
They don’t understand that when my partner got down on one knee and proposed, a part of me was gutted when I thought about calling my dad to share the exciting news. Or when I’m at a baseball game, seeing a father and daughter spending time together and feeling my heart sink, knowing I’ll never again share the joy and excitement of our team winning a game with him. I think about having children and knowing that I’ll see a part of him in them when I look at them. My throat will start to hurt, thinking about how he will never hold them. I’ll always miss him when I meet someone he would have liked.
It’s hard for people to accept that grief lasts forever.
It scares them to know that when my dad died, a part of me died with him. It’s also hard for them to understand that even though he isn’t here anymore, a part of him stayed with me. Those thoughts make me sad, and writing them down often makes them feel even more real. But then, I think of something a friend said that gives me peace. She heard these thoughts and said, “What terrible feelings, but in the same light. How lucky are you that you loved someone so much that sometimes you feel like they are still around.” And that simple thought from a friend, unafraid of my grief, is what makes it okay for me to know that I will grieve my father forever.
Grief is both terrifying and beautiful at the same time.
There are some years when the death of your loved one will affect you in the most brutal ways. And then there are some years when that loss will affect you in the best ways possible; it might even be the driving force behind quitting a job or getting in shape. Something that can make you so sad can also be the thing that makes you appreciate how beautiful life can be.
The terrifying thing that I tell people is that I hope I grieve my father forever. It would mean a part of him always lives on through me and those who come after him. They say that grief is the price we pay for love. And if that is so, I’d pay for it repeatedly, even if it meant I’d only get my dad for the short time I did.
And to my friends experiencing grief who feel like they should hide their loss, please don’t tuck it away in your back pocket. Grieve in whatever way you want to. Remember your loved ones in whatever light. Bring them up in conversations. The right people will find a seat for you at their table; they’ll want to know you and the piece of your loved one you carry daily. And I hope you can sit together and think, “How lucky am I to have loved somebody so much that I will miss them forever?”
Featured image via Liza Summer on Pexels
