More Lingering Thoughts

An update and a thank you

I’ve been feeling like writing again.

Nearly two months ago, I posted an article about the early days of grieving my dad’s death. It ended up being shorter than I anticipated because emotional fatigue set in rather quickly. Turns out writing about death has a way of taking it out of you - who would have thought? Nonetheless, the response I received from those who read the article was unexpected in the best way. Immediately after posting, I asked Maïa if it was a mistake. Was I too vulnerable? Or, even more concerning to me at the time, did my amateur writing adequately convey the emotions I was hoping to express?

Those worries were quickly allayed by your kind and vulnerable comments. I went from feeling self conscious about being too transparent to feeling held by a community that cares about me and understands the pain of losing someone you love. So, to that I say thank you. Though I have still done a poor job of responding to calls, comments and messages (sorry, again), I have read them all and am thankful for each of you.

The truth is, I’m still having a hard time. It’s been a difficult year. In my last post, I talked about how I’ve moved more slowly lately. That has continued. There have been ups and downs but my “normal” has shifted a little. I’m still getting used to what that means. And I am still living in the tension that everyone goes through hard times, but that doesn’t mean I am not allowed to feel pain and seek out extra help to navigate mine. That part of grieving has been harder than I anticipated: minimizing the guilt and shame feelings so I don’t make a difficult time even more difficult by being hard on myself.

Another aspect of the grieving process that has taken me by surprise is the difference between processing my dad’s death and processing my dad’s dying. I am saddened by his death. I want to call him to check in. I’ve wanted to talk to him about the Olympics and the presidential election and tell him about Mila’s dedication service at 8th Street Church and get a call from him checking in on our progress when we drove to New Mexico last month. The absence his death has left continues to make me sad. But the images of his dying haunt me.

I don’t want to spend too much time on this, mostly because it’s pretty bleak. In short, certain moments during my dad’s final months, days, and hours tend to replay in my mind. Often at night. Chemo was hard. Pancreatic cancer and it’s symptoms aren’t pretty. Witnessing someone die is horrible. I’ve had a hard time getting those images out of my mind.

About a month ago, I was sitting in my dad’s home by myself. The moving company had just left and I was locking up. Before leaving, I took a seat on the floor of his newly empty house - the space where I chose to sit happened to be the spot in the living room where he died. I chose to play from my phone his favorite song (“Goodness of God” by CeCe Winans) and acknowledge the gravity of the moment before leaving for the night. With a view of most of the house, I visualized images of our final years together. Holidays. Mila running circles around his chair. Watching sports together. Dad trying to walk. Returning from chemo appointments. I also visualized images of his time to himself. Especially in those final months. This moment overwhelmed me with emotion and I found myself repeatedly saying out loud, through tears, “I’m sorry it was so hard. I’m sorry it was so hard.”

That is what I mean when I say his dying haunts me. Those little (and big) moments that I’m almost seeing for the first time when I look back because I felt like I had to be strong when they were happening in real time.

I’m doing the work to get through it, though. And I’m seeing progress. It’s just moving a little slower than I’d like sometimes.

There is a particular Facebook comment on my previous article that has crossed my mind often since late June. It came from a friend from college, Matt Barnes. Matt’s father passed away 4 years ago. In response to what I wrote, he said:

There’s no perfect solution to the grieving process but I hope that in time it will get easier for you, if it hasn’t already. You never stop missing your dad, but over time I’ve found that the moments when I talk about him or think about him have shifted away from mostly sadness, to mostly, if not entirely joy.

I have clung to this hope and have already seen some of its signs.

My paternal grandmother passed away in 2008. In the years since her passing, my family would say that if we see a cardinal that means Grandma Lena is checking in on us. Call it power of selection, but this summer our backyard has become the almost daily playground for a male and female cardinal. Most sightings are in the morning. This past Monday I took Mila to the OKC Zoo. As we were walking past the lion exhibit, I heard a father tell his son to look in the tree above us, pointing to a bird. There was a cardinal looking over our section of the zoo. Turns out, I can’t escape this dude. He did always like to be up to date on what we were doing. Looks like he’s still at it.

Sure, I don’t actually believe that those cardinals are my dad and grandma. But I also know that spotting them has become a sign of hope, if not joy, for me. And I am going to accept those moments with open arms right now.

Well, I meant to utilize this space to give an update on my professional life and I ended up processing grief again. I suppose I got carried away a bit. Which reminds me of another comment from my last post that has stuck with me, this time from my friend Cyndi Lamb. Referencing her work with Poetic Justice, she said:

I've seen close up the power that writing about our struggles, pain, challenges, wounds, etc., etc. can do for our own healing and for the healing of others. It's good for those of us who know and love you to be welcomed into your inner world. And I can't help but believe it's been good for you also.

I believe Cyndi is right. On days when I’m able to gather the energy to write, it is healing for me to talk about these hard days. And I’m thankful for those of you who have read and are still reading my words. (And I apologize to those of you who subscribed to this newsletter for the sports... This particular article has unequivocally NOT been about sports). Maybe next time I will give my professional update (and a little sports).

I’ll leave you with some happy news. Last month, Maïa, Mila and I, along with a group of our friends, went to New Mexico to celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary. It was an awesome trip full of hiking, eating great food, and watching four 2-year-olds become best friends. Just what Maïa and I needed heading into the busyness that comes with August and beyond. The above picture was one of my favorites from the trip. Gosh, Mila. What a joy it is to be your dad.