Okay, here’s the truth. I’m worried you won’t want to come around here anymore if I keep writing about losing my dad. I mean, why would you? Yet he’s on my mind constantly these days, so it feels disingenuous to share anything else right now. I tried yesterday…and I know my post fell flat. I suppose there’s some beauty in just being real with you about that.
Two weeks have already passed. I see my dad everywhere. I hear his voice all the time. I feel his hand on my shoulder. I think about plans we were making – for family trips, for working together, for talks we still wanted to have. I try to get things done and then I lose focus, lose my rhythm, lose my place.
I feel bad for strangers who catch me in my grief. I can go hours unfazed and then sadness crashes in without warning. Suddenly, I’m choking back tears at a coffee shop. Or staring into space in the cereal aisle. Or sobbing through the first part of Keith Urban’s concert {failed to mention that in the last post, didn’t I?}. I shield my eyes from physical reminders – like his picture, like his handwriting, like his emails to me – but then something so small and unexpected rips my heart open anyway.
People keep telling me to move forward one step at a time. Yes, right…but in which direction? Today, I looked at these gorgeous, light-filled woods and imagined walking through them. Which way would I go? How long would it take? Where might I end up? I had no answers, of course. Only a sense that I’d need to keep on keeping on – watching my step, taking it slow, asking for help, feeling my way through.
I know you can’t give me directions, dear ones. I must do this on my own. But if you’ve been at the edge of these woods before, I’d love any advice you have to offer. Thanks for hanging with me.
I haven't been in your place yet, Liv. I just wanted to say that I think it is perfectly fine to write about your grief, to make the journey on your blog. It is a part of life that we will all experience, and it becomes part of who we are.
My mom would say, "One day at a time."
Sending you hugs.
hello you.
i hadn't heard the news, but happy i
found you today. sending you a hug.
a BIGhug.
Sending you a warm hug, but wishing I could give you one in person instead. I have no words of wisdom, but just sweet prayers for you.
Lean on friends, lean on family – ask for what you need – and do what gives you comfort.
xo! Tracy
I lost my Mom 2 years ago Oct. 12. While I still miss her every single day, the pain has subsided some. There are no words that can ease your grief. It is a walk we have to take. I used my blog for the first year to say everything I wanted to about my loss. Did I put some people off? Maybe, because they were looking for a cheery craft or recipe. But I also received many uplifting comments as well as gratitude for sharing. It was very cathartic and comforting at the same time. I say share if it helps you. You never know who you might be helping in the process. I am sending sweet, loving hugs your way and pray that you will find comfort. ~Lanie J.
there is no "right" way to do this….there is only the way you are doing this..
this was the best advice I received. I was concerned I wasn't "doing the grieving" right. I mean was it right to go to the movies on christmas instead of having a huge family deal without my dad? in our world it was just what we needed.
you will find what you need – let your heart tell you what it wants…swinging in the park, tea, Salted Carmel Mochas (yum), cartoons, lunch with friends, do what YOU need to do.
A part of me was wondering what was going on yesterday. Since you are all about finding the beauty in every day I was expecting your posts after your dad's memorial to be about finding something good in the sea of grief you are in. And I thought you were trying to "keep it light"… but today you gave us raw, true emotion… and that's beautiful. People want to go on this journey with you – they want to support you and love you, cry with you and laugh with you and it was so nice to see today that you're letting them in.
It's been 16 years since my dad passed. There's no one in my life that knew my dad and I fear sometimes that his memory is fading. But I tell stories about him – but I just wish that I had his voice on tape or a video or even a recording of other people telling old "McGoo" stories.
Look at those e-mails from your dad, his picture, tell stories, watch his videos – yeah, it weighs heavy right now but as time goes on you'll enjoy them more and more and laugh and smile instead of sobbing at the coffee shop… although that probably will happen again and that's totally okay (even years later!)
I love the imagery you created of being on the edge of a forest, and trying to get "through the woods". For me, I never left the woods because that emptiness and loss is always with me. But within the woods I have found light filled meadows of love and peace. But then I creep back into the woods sometimes, get lost, fall into a pile of leaves and then find my way back to the meadow. And that's okay.
There's no right or wrong way to grieve – just be true to yourself and take comfort in others – and know that your dad is staring at the edge of the forest right along your side.
I am coming out of my 'lurker' status to comment today. I want you to know that I have not lost my father but have lost many people that I love. Grief is a twisty ride and all we can do is go with it. Fine one minute and falling apart the next. Sharing your journey here is healing for all. Why do I return over and over to certain blogs? Because those people tell the truth. No matter how raw. When you dig deep and share your journey you give us all permission to write and speak what is true for us. I wonder if you gathered up a blanket and some items that are meaningful from your relationship with your father and went into those woods and made a small fire and had a private ritual/cermony….make some art, drink tea, talk with your father and God, pray, cry, sing…..just do anything that you feel and let it all be ok. Look at the trees and watch how they witness and hold our grief. Wail at the sky….keen. Know that this deep ocean of grief is because you have had a deep ocean of love. Blessings.
We love you Liv. This is your space. If you dad is on your mind, express that. I don't feel there is any reason to hold it in.
I think it's brave of you to share yourself at such a vulnerable time. You may be helping someone out and you don't even know it.
I think you should read two books by Jennifer Weigel.
"The first is called Stay Tuned. Conversations with Dad from the Other Side." I have not read this one, but it's supposed to be really good.
I have however read "I'm Spiritual Dammit" by the same woman. It's a great read and I think you'd benefit from reading them both.
((hugs))
When my father died the world appeared as cardboard: thin, impermanent, ready to topple. The membrane of certainty had been torn away and my heart felt exposed to the elements.
I don't know what your path will be like – but I do know that you can't skip steps or hurry. The best advice I've ever read is in this poem:
Lost
Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you,
If you leave it you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.
~ David Wagoner ~
so much I wanted to tell you, just decided to write something for you instead:
http://beingisaverb.wordpress.com/2011/10/18/for-livs-healing-heart/
(((Liv)))
You'll find peace even if this, eventually. Give yourself time, ok?
Liv,
Thank you for your honesty.
I have a sister who is terminally ill and within a few months I do not expect her to be living an earthly life.
I feel like I am on the edge of those woods everyday.
Take it at your own pace, we live in a life of shoulds…..the only should here is, you SHOULD do it your own way in your space.
Much love and light to you,
Jenifer M
I know that many of you will NOT understand what I have to say, but know that it is meant in the best possible way for not only you, Colleen, but alsofor others who grieve the loss of their beloved parents.
I will never feel a loss like yours, as I have never felt a love like yours for a parent. I grieved the loss of, or should I say the lack of, parents from a very early age until well into my forties. I had very dear friends and a spouse that lost there beloved parents during that time.
What came to me then, is the same thing that comes to me now: the way through the loss is to celebrate the love that you were able to live. That love and relationship gave you a confidence and a feeling that many of us have never and will never feel from a parent. You were so very fortunate to have had these parents in your life. Without that incredible love and all that it entails, you would not feel this deep, deep loss.
Once again, with deep respect for all of you who grieve, I would rather have experienced even a tiny bit of your love and joy, in exchange for the pain you are now feeling.
Celebrate their lives and live yours with the joy of having known such incredible people and cry and write and do what ever you need to to feel in the moment.
With love,
Shelley
Liv,
My father died five years ago, and I did a lot of eye-wiping at random moments, plus a lot of staring into space in the cereal aisle. I first felt abandoned, then robbed of the grandfather he could have been for my son, who wasn't quite a year old at the time. Then I got really stressed about losing any of my other loved ones to illness.
I think I got through it in three ways: not trying to look further than a few minutes or hours ahead, and going to a grief counselor for a couple of months.
I think a relative with therapeutic training found me the grief counselor, who helped me deal with the terror I would lose someone else.
You are doing what you can to endure. That is the best you can do, and all you have to do right now.
I did not have loving parents so I do not have any idea what this is like for you. I would say be sad AND be grateful for all the ways he was wonderful. I have no doubt he is with you in whatever way he is able.
I keep reading your blog because you are able to articulate so well feelings that I cannot. It doesn't matter if I wasn't close to my mom and dad who are now gone. We all have experienced loss and pain in different ways or we all will. I read to see how you are doing. I read because you express what I have felt but couldn't say. Please don't stop sharing your "self". Your writing is for you, after all, and if you touch even one of your readers, that is a blessing.
Oh Liv, I just want to give you a big hug! Please do not ever apologize for how you feel! Everyone here has said it so eloquently, and they are right — your writing is for you, and if that means you write about your Dad, then by all means, or, if that means you write about pea soup (I have a great recipe) but just write honey, it is who you are!
Hi sweet Liv,
I love that you commit to real… and share it. Thank you:)
I have been in your shoes, but as I think about sharing wisdom, I am struck with the idea that my relationship with my father and my sister were remarkably "ours". I lost them in different ways and I grieve them in different ways.
Your relationship with your amazing father was yours and his alone. Your grieving process will be as individual as your relationship.
I am heartened that you share and that you let the moments of grief come to you and move through you. If there is something universal to say, it might be to feel…to not put it away too soon and cover it up for others. Your father was special to you and to the world and there is no schedule for grieving a loss like that. There is no benefit to tucking it away to feel later. Thank you for sharing it now.
Love to you and your family,
Joan