Ebbs and Flows

What I've learned through my healing process (oh gosh I hope that's what this is) is that the grief ebbs and flows.  Maybe it's not as consistently timed as the ocean waves, but it seems like just as I think I'm starting to hurt a little less, sadness will wash over me.

I can recognize the my coping mechanisms, too. First, there's the ever popular "don't think about this right now and you'll feel better". I use this many times, even subconsciously I'm sure, because there are days when I don't think about my Dad very much, if at all. I feel guilty sometimes about this, but these days are so much easier and more manageable so I figure it's ultimately ok.

Then there's the denial approach. Sometimes I really don't believe that he is gone. It's such a foreign feeling for me still, having him absent from my life. There are times when I just think we've simply been out of touch for a long time. Like I just haven't picked up the phone and called him in a while.

A little of the bargaining stage peeks in here. I think, "if only I could have just the slightest form of communication with him still, then I would feel so much better and be able to live my life." I rationalize that if only I could hear his voice in my head, or just talk to him on the phone, that maybe I could make peace with never seeing him again. Or I wish for one more day, one more hour even, where we could hug and cry and say all the things we didn't have a chance to say.

Sometimes I wonder what I would do if I actually were granted these things. I know God is capable of miracles, and people have visits from ghosts all the time. I wonder what my reaction would be if I saw my Dad again. If the phone rang and he was on the other line. If I heard his voice clearly in my head. Would I be fearful and frozen, unable to react? Would I be so overcome with joy that I run to him with open arms, or cry happy tears? Would I be able to make the most of those moments? And would that experience finally give me peace and closure? Or would I simply become insatiable when it was over, having finally tasted something so sweet and then unable to have it again?

Some days I lay in bed, unable to sleep because I'm trying so hard to think of something, anything, besides my Dad, but he's all that comes to mind.

And sometimes I'm out there living my life, trying to do everything and anything that would have elicited a reaction from him if he were here. Recently I expanded my personal business to have a new storefront location. This is something I had only dreamed of previously. My Dad was always so proud of me and my business and each small success that I experienced. I threw myself into my new project of getting this storefront, believing it was something he would want for me. As I admire the finished product I imagine how proud he would be of me. I envision him walking in and seeing the space and having a reaction only characterized as him; phrases like "nuh-uh" and "no way" and even "cool beans". Ha! I imagine his eyes swelling with tears of pride, and the big hugs that would ensue. I'd tell him about all the amazing deals I got on the furniture pieces, and how I refinished them to look this way; things I know he would be impressed with and react to.

The truth is I feel like I'm always trying to impress him still. I'm trying to do anything that might elicit a reaction on his part. I'm wishing I could hear his voice saying words of praise and elation, an wishing I could feel his presence. Something, anything, that let me know he was with me. It's like this challenge I've given myself, that if I do enough, eventually something will be so monumental that it will warrant an outreach. I'm literally begging for some kind of communication from him. I know, I know... I may be so loud in all of this that I cannot hear the quiet moments that might hold something for me. Maybe I'm not paying attention enough to the subtle messages around me. Maybe he can only do so much, and my expectations are too high. I'm working on this...

But in case you didn't already know, Dad, so much of what I do is for you. So much of how I live my life, and the decisions I make, are to honor you and make you proud.