Grief

I don't know what got me to thinking about grief the other night. For a long time, it was just so much a part of who I was, that I didn't think to name it: grief was life. Life was grief. And then...then the rest of my life happened. And it really wasn't too bad: lots of additions, fewer subtractions.

I learned grief at such a young age: when I was 8, I learned my father had done some Very Bad Things. As a daddy's girl, it was devastating. And yet, I loved him. And this revelation came in the midst of my mother fighting breast cancer, which she ultimately lost. They split a few months before she died. A defining moment in my childhood, indeed.

Then when I married for the first time, I was lucky to have an amazing mother-in-law. I was ecstatic. I was sure that was my 2nd chance at having a mother. And not long after my wedding, she fell ill as well. Just over a year after my wedding, and 3 weeks after the birth of my first child, we lost her too. I was devastated. It was a good year before I didn't often spontaneously burst into tears, missing her.

And then...then a long time passed, with no serious losses. A divorce, yes, a loss. And grief. But not the grief that comes with  death.

And then my father died. To say our relationship was complicated is probably an understatement. But the things that happened when I was a child had dimmed in my memory; he was a wonderful grandfather and a good dad to an adult daughter. I couldn't have asked for more: generous, fun, kind, and had chosen a lovely partner who I am closer to than ever before. And then he left - far too soon. He was supposed to see his grandchildren grow up, and know his great-grandchildren. But he can't.

He.

Is.

Gone.

I was not prepared for how much I would miss him - for how his death would bereave me. Though his death was sudden, it shouldn't have been completely unexpected: he'd been ill off and on with various ailments. And during those times of serious illness, I thought in a way, I might be relieved if he died. But I have not, not for one minute since he passed away, felt relieved. All I feel is loss and grief, and the sense that he was not finished. WE were not finished. But we are, and I can't change that. I cannot put him back together, and hug him and talk to him and hear him shout "Jessie!" the way that only he could.

One thing I have learned is that grief will not wither on the vine. You can ignore it, you can pretend it doesn't exist, you can move on in smiles and jokes and trips to the grocery store and episodes of your favorite TV show. But grief will always find you.

It found me in the grocery aisle when  a Lynyrd Skynyrd song came on. It found me late at night when I found a selfie he'd left on the computer I inherited from him. It found me in a photo of him as a young man. It found me in the moments of my sons' lives when all I could think was, "I wish he was here." Grief finds you; do not be fooled that you can trick it into never unlocking your front door just because you've gotten on with your life.

A song I listened to over and over again shortly after losing my dad is called "Learning the World," by one of my favorite songwriters, Mary Chapin Carpenter. Mary gets it in a way that I wish more people would:

Grief rides quietly on the passenger side
Unwanted company on a long, long drive
It turns down the quiet songs and turns up the din
It goes where you go, it’s been where you’ve been

And pushing your empty cart mile after mile
Leaves you weeping in the wilderness
Of the supermarket aisle
And in the late night kitchen light it sits in a chair
Watching you pretend that it’s not really there

But it is, so it is and you ask
Are you predator or friend
The future or the past?

It hands you your overcoat and opens the door
You are learning the world again just as before
But the first time was childhood
And now you are grown
Broken wide open, cut to the bone

And all that you used to know is of no use at all
The same eyes you’ve always had have you walking into walls
And the same heart can’t understand
Why it’s so hard to feel
What used to be true
What’s now so unreal

But it is, so it is and you say
I wish I were the wind so that I could blow away

Grief sits silently on the edge of your bed
It’s closing your eyes, it’s stroking your head
The dear old companion is taking up air
Watching you pretend that it’s not really there.