It’s Okay To Cry

Yesterday, September 12 was the second anniversary of my Dad’s death. I’d spent the week psyching myself to finally write about it – and I mean really write about it – but as I sit here now, I find I just can’t. I thought I was ready. I thought my heart could take putting words to my thoughts of what happened that day and how the experience of finding him lifeless on the floor at home has affected me, but I just can’t. I guess I’m just not ready, and that’s okay.

I can talk in general about grief and what it means to lose someone you’re so close to. It’s horrible. It hurts. And I don’t think it’s something I will ever truly get over. It’s hard to fathom that someone so integral in your life can be there one minute and then just gone the next. I thought after dealing with my Mom’s passing for almost twenty-six years would have made the process easier. It hasn’t. Not one bit.

As I type, the burning has already started in the back of my throat, and I’m doing everything I can to keep my shit together and not let the tears fall. But I know it’s futile and they will. And that’s okay. It’s all okay. I’m not going to judge myself for breaking down and crying, and you shouldn’t either.

I cry less than I did but I still cry. I think I’ve just gotten better at diverting my thoughts and keeping myself busy. I just miss him you know? I miss the fun we had together. We had so much fun! We used to laugh, and chat and I would bug him endlessly and he would pretend to be angry, but he never was.

Sometimes, I find myself looking at the clock thinking he’ll be getting home from golf soon and wondering if he grabbed a bite to eat at the course. Then I catch myself. Dinner is just me. Again. I do get lonely, not just for any old company, but HIS company, and the pandemic has only exacerbated the loss. This old house can get pretty quiet some days.

But it’s also filled with wonderful memories! As I look around the room I’m in right now, feel the heat from the fireplace, and snuggle under my blanket, I think of all the times we watched movies together, him on his couch and me on mine. Always in our same spots. Never changed. It took me a long while before I was able to sit in my spot on the couch again. I had to sit on his couch because then when I looked over, I wouldn’t see that his spot was empty. I’m better now. Now when I sit by the downstairs fireplace, I sit in my old spot. And when I look over to his old spot, I smile because I know he’s never really left me. He’s always in my heart and that’s what matters most.

I cherish the time we spent together, and I know how incredibly blessed I am to have felt the warmth of his love and kindness of his heart. We had a special relationship, one that’s hard to describe. We had each other’s backs, no matter what. If you don’t have someone in your life like that right now, then I sincerely hope one day you will. It’s an amazing feeling.

I do what I can to keep his memory alive. I make sure his grandchildren know how much he loved them and how proud he was of each of them. He loved being a grandpa. He had so much fun messing around with all those kids, doing what he could to make them giggle. And when they needed a hug or a snuggle, his arms were always open. I can’t tell you how many pictures we have of him and a sleeping child on his chest.

There are so many memories. And it’s these memories that I’m choosing to celebrate on this anniversary. It’s these memories that sustain me everyday, and it’s these memories that let me know how much a person can love. That is where the tears come from. Because to have a loss hurt so much, means that I have loved hard, and if there’s one thing or one legacy I want to leave when my time comes, it would be that she loved as hard as she could.

I don’t know how to love any other way.

So, as I write this post and reflect back on the last two years, and my lifetime really, I will cry, and I will cry hard. I have been almost this whole time, and like I said, that’s okay. I will let it all out not because I need to but because I want to. An expression not so much of sorrow but of pure love.

Tomorrow will be two years plus one day. I’ll wake up in the morning and do my thing to get ready for the day. I’ll turn on my laptop while I drink my coffee and see my screen saver, a picture of my great-nephew Cam and his new baby brother Wesley. And I’ll smile because I know that the strength of my father’s love runs deep in his great-grandsons, just as it runs deep in all of us.

Then, I’ll blow a kiss to the portrait of my mom and dad that hangs on the wall, and just say thank you. Thank you for everything. Thank you both for loving me for exactly who I am. It’s the greatest gift to give.

Take the time to tell those people in your life that you love them. Say it. Show it. Appreciate it. Then say it again. And then love them with everything you’ve got. If you don’t want to do it for me, then do it in memory of my Dad.

Peace and love,