Grief Is A Wretched Beast
And now, it's simply a part of me.
Like the title says: grief is a wretched beast. Rearing its ugly head on its own time, it breaches the surface, disrupting everything in its path.
It makes me freeze — I cannot move, I cannot turn my thoughts away from it.
It suffocates me and wrings my brain, my heart until there are no more tears to fall.
It hits me in waves and I have no choice but to ride them out. Some waves are stronger than others. That’s the best piece of advice I was given when I started this… journey? This new chapter of my life? Ride the waves when they come. Don’t fight them. It’s helped, but it’s still hard. The pain is unpalatable, piercing.
I made it through what they call “the firsts”. I can’t even believe it’s been a year. A difficult year. An entire 365 days without my father. A whole, complete year where I couldn’t call him, talk to him, see him… hug him.
Grief has taught me there will be good days, and there will be okay days, and there will be bad days. Mostly, it’s taught me that I will forever have this melancholy that I carry within myself. I fully expected to be more emotional on the anniversary and when I wasn’t, I felt weird about it. The days leading up to it, though? Those were tough.
I recall the last time I saw him. The last conversation, the last time I heard him speak and tell me he loved me. How he told me he would “see me next time” when our visit came to an end. How I didn’t know that would be the last time we would be together. How it would be the last time I’d hear his laugh, see his smile, and hear him tell me he loves me.
I cannot bear to remove his phone number from my favorites or contacts. The photo I have for his contact is him with his five grandchildren, my nieces and nephews. I have not been able to listen to his music since last year, for fear it will send me into a fit of tears. I’m avoiding it, the release of that pain, but why? It’s easier? I am not in the mood to cry. What a ridiculous statement. Of course I’m never in the mood to cry. The tears well when they must — I can’t fight them. Again, it’s best to just ride the wave.
This heartache hangs heavy and I’m waiting for the moment when it “becomes easier” — but will it ever? I think some days will be easier than others, but I am certain this grief will ever cease to exist.
It’s simply a part of me. It’s a piece of my heart, soul, mind, body… me. It will forever live in me and be a part of me. It’s hard to live with that, knowing there’s no end to it.
I aimed to keep this post short, maybe in an effort to avoid an impending wave. But in all honesty, it’s because I’m still drained and find I don’t have much more to say on the matter. So, here’s a short poem during my #tinysummerpoem journey this month and I will leave it here at the end, dedicated to my father.
The Oak Tree
I close my eyes and rest
beneath the oak,
tall and proud —
like you.
You taught me
my best reaction:
to be steady, to be silent, to be still.
I yearn to be like the oak tree —
to be steady.
Silent.
Still.
Like you.
I miss you, Dad — I hope you know I still can hear your boisterous laugh in my memory. I can still see your ever-bright blue eyes smiling when you would laugh out loud, and hear you slapping your leg or the counter alongside your thunderous guffaw, so infectious.
Wherever your soul may be, I hope you’re at peace.
Keeping you in my thoughts and heart. That poem is lovely!