It has been a long time since I did much writing, my last blog post was November 2021, I am just about 2 years overdue but also there is no deadline or repercussion for not actively writing. I found great comfort in writing for the first 2 years after my father died, In many ways I felt like I was talking with him, I would often hear his voice in my head as I worked out my emotions or wrestled with moments of overwhelming grief. As those moments grew further and further apart I started to push off writing more and more. I think a part of me found it painful to spend time in the world of grief but more and more I think that one lesson of grief is that there is no end, not really. I will never not miss my father, so pushing those feelings aside only allows them to become more detached from myself and thus more potent and "other". In the first year I often thought of my grief as a monster, some external nightmare that I had to fight. The second year that monster grew more into a companion that I carried with me, not a source of comfort, but no longer the scary beast that had come to destroy me. The third year I found that I wasn't always walking with grief hand in hand, though it was never far away. I could let it go at times and it would return in a more gentle manifestation if I was going through memories, telling stories or looking at pictures. Beyond the feeling of loss there will always be feelings of love and that grows into the dominant emotion as the pain of loss loses it's biting edge.
When the pandemic was in full force I felt a great return of loss. There was the immediate loss of feeling safe, of my job and any hope for a career in events, an industry that was all but destroyed as the whole world shut down, there was the loss of living in New York as I fled the city, there was the loss of connection with family as they were either stuck in Florida or rightfully scared to have contact during a pandemic and this brough back my sense of grieving both for my father, and for the vision of my life. I felt that just as I was starting to step back into the world from the shrouded fog of grief that everything was turned upside down and I was knocked off my feet again. It sent me spiraling into a deep depression though I didn't even notice. I thought it was perfectly normal that I couldn't get out of bed for days at a time and had no interest in any activity. I drowned out my thoughts and feelings, seeking numbness and escapism, despite being in the seclusion of my mother's house in the suburbs with a beautiful property, I almost never went outside. The crushing weight of danger and fear that gripped my chest was overwhelming every time I tried to venture outdoors. To me Covid felt like a predator, waiting for any sign of weakness or unawareness to pounce. Irrationally, it felt like Covid lurked in every corner and I was absolutely convinced that not only was I going to get it, but be one of the unlucky people dying horribly on a ventilator. I had a recurring dream about it for months. I was sure it was only a matter of time as I had been experiencing concurrent trauma again and again.
I was lucky to find a job with an amazing company, Bircthtree Catering, in the summer of 2020 but was working remotely so I still didn't have to get out of bed. I was furloughed from September 2020 until May 2021 as the company made the correct, but difficult choice to shut down operations until they were able to do so in a safer post vaccine world. By then I had also moved into center city and reconnected with my close circle of friends and was able to go outside again. I also made the easiest decision of my life and asked Kienan to marry me on January 2nd of 2021. We set the date for November 19th, 2022 as we wanted to be as far removed from the pandemic as possible, despite some resurgence of variants, we were so lucky to be largely unaffected. Being engaged and getting married carried with it a whole new experience of grief. I've talked about how part of grief is not just the loss of the loved one, but the loss of life events and experiences yet to come. With the sweet comes the bitter, I found ways to honor my father at the wedding and knew that I carried his love and joy through the whole experience but there was a tinge of sadness on my periphery. Kienan, my constant support and comfort, calls it "having a sad", when I experience a grief trigger and sob. It happens less frequently but can hit with a hurricanic force when it does come.
I am now approaching 5 years (November 9th) since my father died. I can hardly believe that so much time has passed. I often think of the extraordinary sensation that comes with the passing of time after a traumatic event. A part of my brain may always exist, frozen, in that moment. That earth altering shift where everything changed and who I was was changed into "Before Loss" and "After Loss". Those two versions of myself were at odds for a long time. I experienced a great sense of detachment internally as I had to collect the bits of me that had been shattered and slowly find how they could fit together again, yet everything felt alien and unfamiliar. It has been a long journey to get to where I feel like a cohesive and authentic version of myself again.
“Grief is not a feeling. Grief is not how you feel it is what you do. Grief is a skill. And the twin of grief as a skill of life is the skill of being able to praise or love life. Which means wherever you find one authentically done, the other is very close at hand. Grief and the praise of life, side by side. The honored guests. The room at the head table. And they are toasting you, the living.”~ Stephen Jenkinson, Griefwalker
There is no spell or easy fix when it comes to grieving. It will take you as it wants and resisting can lead to unhealthy, sometimes self destructive, coping mechanisms.
There is the old adage that Time Heals All Wounds, and it is certainly true that with time I have regained my sense of self and the pain of loss doesn't demand my attention as often. However, no amount of time could make me not miss my father. With loss I think we often become almost irrationally sensitives to the passing of time and I have found it incredibly difficult to part with things that existed in a time when my father was living. A handwritten note, even a banal grocery list? Impossible to throw away. How can I toss these physical bits of his life, these things which show that someone was here and can carry the irrational responsibility of keeping them in our lives as we continue living without them. In those moments, I understand that my reptile emotion brain is in the driver's seat and try not to devolve into shame or guilt. I sit with the emotion and let it run it's course. If I am still attached to the note then it goes into the chest full of random ephemera and I don't punish myself for it. Other times I am able to toss the paper once the emotion behind it has been recognized and honored. There is no fool proof or consistent method so I take it as it happens.
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