I can only talk of my grief. It’s an exclusive experience. A road which only I walk on. People try to get it but it’s a hard one to understand.
How do I explain to them that I have a much better relationship with my father now than when he was alive? And if he had been alive, we most definitely would have been estranged.
How can I explain to them that within the moments where he got me, are the spaces I waited for the other shoe to drop? That I knew it was a fleeting moment of connection and was going to break within the next few seconds?
But now? Now I have endless conversations with him and the link never breaks. He gets it. And I no longer wait for the shoe to drop. He listens as I rage and howl. He cracks his witty ones with me still and we dance on Michael Jackson songs. He’s still the better dancer between us. He’s always there when I need him.
How do I explain to them that my regret and guilt are intertwined with immense relief? The regret is not mine to hold. Nor is the guilt. But the relief is. The relief is mine alone.
When he wasn’t there on my wedding day, I was relieved because he couldn’t cause a scene amongst hundreds of people. I could instead, conjure him next to me, silently holding me and helping me move into the next phase of my life.
When he wasn’t there for my divorce? I was unbelievably relieved that he didn’t have to see me so broken and that he couldn’t say something ‘wrong’ when I turned to him. Instead, he only had wisdom to share with me. From wherever he was, he walked the distance to me and stood by me as I pieced myself back together. He showed me patience and kindness and strength that would never have been possible if he had been alive.
And now we work together. He is my wisest advisor, my best friend, my guide, my father. And none of it would have happened if he hadn’t died. So although I miss our physical spaces, I have so much more with him now.
How do I even begin to explain this grief of mine to someone else? This grief that makes me chronically melancholic and boundlessly joyful. The one that took something but gave me so much more. The one that makes me miss my father all the while knowing that he’s right next to me. Always.
– A Grieving Daughter
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