Taking Time to Remember

My grandfather passed away a month before Christmas when I was ten.  It was my first experience with the death of someone close to me, and my heart was broken in to pieces.  Granddad had been living with us through the end stages of his lung cancer.  Every evening before I went to bed, I sat with him to chat about the day.  He used to watch a TV program called "Songs of Praise," and I remember the sound of a choir singing hymns floating around our home.  Because of the season of his death, the carol, "In the Bleak Midwinter" has always taken me back to those precious evenings developing a closeness with my Granddad that was destined to break my heart. 

My father died on a Wednesday morning at 5:45am. For several months afterwards, on Wednesdays, at 5:45am, as I was running up the hill towards my home, I would hear a particular song on my playlist. The song continues to hold special meaning - along with several others - and I continue to hear it played at especially meaningful times. My Dad is never far away, and he is adamant not to be forgotten. 

Two years ago, one of Jimmy's dearest lifelong friends died after an unusually long cohabitation with pancreatic cancer. Joe was a skilled outdoorsman, and Jimmy spent as much time in the woods with him as possible in the later years. Joe always said that if you find and pick up a balloon in the woods, it will mean good luck in your hunt. 

On the first day of the season, Jimmy left camp nice and early to head for his hunting grounds. Wouldn't you know it, as he was walking, he spied an old raggedy balloon lying on the forest floor. He picked it up, and within twenty minutes had his sight set on the biggest buck of his hunting career... and now we have a freezer full of venison. The mount will be an odd one - a large set of antlers, with a dirty old balloon hanging from it.

This is a time of year when our losses are felt a little bit deeper, and our grief is felt a little bit stronger.  Maybe we no longer get to visit a loved one at their home over the holidays, or there is an empty seat at our table.  Perhaps there are traditions that we carry on in memory of a special person, but even doing so brings on a wave of grief so strong that it stops us in our tracks.

I am many years into my grief journey, now, and there are still moments that bring me to my knees.  Mostly, though, it now brings me more comfort than pain when I pause and take time to remember.  Sometimes the memories show up randomly, and sometimes, I actually plan to take the time to spend remembering and reliving special moments from my past. I am now able to feel joy from those memories, and draw the strength that is brought from having experienced such love.  

For me, the most important part of the above Elizabeth Kubler Ross quote, is; "You will be whole again, but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same, nor would you want to."  I am not the same person I was before my father died, and I don't want to be, because I want his life to be a part of mine forever. Losing him destroyed me, and I had to rebuild myself around that destructive loss.  Although I'm not successful all of the time, I try to honor my dad's legacy of love and generosity every day. Hopefully I'm softer, gentler, and more forgiving, because I forever remember that he gave everyone the benefit of the doubt... after all, we are all fighting our own battles. 

Grief is such a universal emotion, even animals experience it. Knowing this, remember that you are never alone, and that ultimately, sadness isn't bad - it helps us to remember what we care deeply about (words of wisdom from Kid President.)

All is well. 💖