Change – the really fundamental kind – sometimes reveals itself when we’re busy doing other things. I hadn’t noticed when something shifted inside, but I caught myself the other day.
Words tumbled out of my mouth with ease. Dad “is” became dad “was,” and my “parent’s” house was now my “mother’s.” For the first time, I stopped and really listened to how I spoke about dad and the life that was left in his wake. I was eerily calm. Composed. My voice didn’t break when I felt those words rise up from my throat. Without realizing it, I’ve started to heal.
It’s a small victory, recognizing that progress. Being able to talk about it openly and so much more. Feeling the roots of something good start to wriggle inside again. Laughing, smiling, hoping for the future. And actually wanting to do those things – lusting for them, truthfully.
I’ve spent a lot of time home recently with my mom and brother, and in ways dad’s absence hasn’t been as harsh as it once was. My eyes don’t always turn to the seat he’s not filling, and I peer less around the corner in hopes he’s there. It’s usually when someone shares a story he loved, or says something insanely funny he would of appreciated, or my brother mimics his mannerisms without knowing it that I pause to realize he’s not there to enjoy it all. It’s not headlining all we do and say, like it did before.
A few weeks ago, my mom shared this blog with a friend, and after reading through all of the posts starting with the first, she told my mom that she could hear my voice change. Heard the despair quiet against a rising voice of optimism, even joy. I hope it has. I hope in whatever small ways I can, I’m moving forward.
It’s a good thing. Really. But somewhat heart breaking too – as if stepping out from grief’s shadow is a disservice to him, or a sign of letting go.
For a long time, I fueled my grief in an effort to keep dad close. Living in the past to keep it closer to the present, fighting from letting those moments become memories further in time. I’ve leaned on my grief to bridge myself to him, but it’s lifted slowly. It’s always there, but no longer paralyzing my life around it.
It took a long while, but I’ve realized dad isn’t in my tears – though they’ll continue to come, as will bad days even though they’ve lessened. But dad – he’s in my heart absolutely always, and he’s never leaving. And, my, he’s so much more alive when I feel it bloom with joy.
A REKD GIRL 