I cried a lot on Friday. This might come as a surprise, since Fridays are the day I post my Little Bliss List of cherished and joyful tidbits from the past week…and welcome others to do the same. It’s a happy, sparkly love-fest around here at the end of each week.
But on Friday, all that joy had to scoot over and share a seat with sorrow.
That day marked five months since my dad died and it hit me particularly hard. With each passing month, I feel further away from him – even though I know, deep down, he’s still around. And on Friday, my own grief was compounded by witnessing my kids missing their beloved Papa. Though I didn’t mention the five-month mark to them, they must have felt the weight of it. Ryder told me, “I wish I could go back in time. I would re-do the world so Papa could be here again.” My heart ached as I choked back tears, agreeing that a re-do would be wonderful. Later, I heard Tru whispering in the living room and when I peeked around the corner, I found him dancing, holding my dad’s picture in his little hands and whispering to it. Heartache, again.
I used a lot of Kleenex on Friday and went to bed bleary-eyed and blotchy-faced. But here’s why I’m sharing this: Friday was not a bad day. To define it that way – or any day, for that matter – would be the easy way out. To be honest, I get a little annoyed when people say they’re having a bad day. Usually, that declaration stems from having a handful of negative experiences, ranging from relationship woes to a soggy sandwich at lunch. Once they’ve decided they’re having a bad day, their radar is up – looking for more negative moments to prove their point. In doing so, they completely miss all the bliss that’s also in their midst. And it is there – no matter the circumstances.
Lots of parts of my Friday felt awful. But there were plenty of things to be grateful for, too. A friend of my parents’ delivered daffodils to our door in honor of the five month mark. Ryder was over the moon about his Justin Bieber haircut. I loved reading others’ blissful moments shared on the blog. And my ability to be sad and happy within the same day felt brave and good.
To chalk up Friday as a bad day would devalue those joyful, meaningful moments and only give power to the sadness. All in all, it was a good day. I choose to believe that every single day is.
Hi Liv,
My heart feels for you from the other end of the planet. Thanks for sharing these difficult lines with us.
Hugs from France
Thank you so much, Sabrina! I can feel the hug…coming from one of my favorite places in the whole wide world! So sweet! xoxo
One more wonderful thing – not to diminsh the sadness and difficulty but it is so heartwarming to read how your children still think of your dad and miss his presence – a testament to what a great relationship they had when he was alive. I know I am not telling you anything you don’t already know, and this probably isn’t the best way to say it – it just struck me when you mentioned both of your boys feeling the energy of the 5 month mark too.
Your son dancing and whispering to your dad’s picture, gah! Breaks and warms my heart in the same moment!
Thank you for sharing these amazing moments in the midst of sadness.
So true – and I appreciate you pointing it out. I’m especially struck by how often Tru brings him up, given that he is so young and couldn’t communicate very well while my dad was still here. The time they spent together here was clearly soul-deep…and I suspect they’re still spending time together in a new way.
Liv – I too had a mark weekend – 4 years since my beloved Father-in-law passed and on the way home to pick up our kids and head back to NE for his funeral, my husband and I were in a car accident that we should not have lived through – but we did. Even that day, horrible and scary as it was, was a good day and the many in recovery afterwards were also good days.
You are so right about the capacity for sad and happy to coexist. In fact they need each other to define themselves.
Hugs to all of you and yours.
Oh my, Debbie! I bet the reflection and visceral reaction to this weekend each year can feel overwhelming. But I’m so glad you, too, see the sparks of goodness that came out of it, too – including that you’re still ALIVE to notice the bliss in your midst! xoxo
Amazing post, Liv. Your gift of “Choosing Beauty” is a true blessing to all those who read and get inspired by your work. Dr. Benson was an amazing man full of insight, wisdom, wonderment, and true beauty. And, to have a daughter like you must make him stand-up and tell everyone around him “hey, look there…she’s MY daughter!”
Oh, that’s so sweet, Mary Margaret. Thank you!!
Hi Liv,
The fact that you recognize your bliss amidst your sadness speaks volumes about how you are connected with the depths of your spirit! How good it is to be comfortable with bliss and sadness all in the same moment. We could all transport our thoughts either way at any moment…..it’s all in how you choose to see your world at that moment. It’s okay to feel the sadness, to acknowledge what has happened, but you were able to move forward and see your son dancing with your dad’s photo, bliss out of sadness, a lesson you, your son and your dad will likely remember more vividly that the hurt.
I’m glad you felt brave and good for remembering!
Thank you for that, Jodi. There was a time when I thought I needed to stuff down all the “yucky” feelings in order to feel joy. Funny how when I allow yourself to lean into the sadness, it actually makes me fully feel and appreciate the joyful moment even more!
I so get this, Liv.
And love it.
And you…..I love you:)
-Jennifer
Ditto, friend. Thanks.
Hugs to you. It will get easier, but not for a long time.
I still miss my Dad every day, and it has been 40 years.
Lately in meditation time I see him dancing and playing the flute
with a parade of other people. He never danced or played the flute,
but he sure looks happy, and so I try to think about that.
I love that, Pat! And, in a strange way, it’s actually comforting to hear you still miss your dad after 40 years – that there’s no timetable on grief. xoxo
Oh Liv, I hope you realize how amazing you are… So. Very. Amazing.
When I read your thoughtful posts I feel as though I’ve been given a very special gift. As I read this one, I found myself crying and smiling simultaneously, and at the end I just wanted to give you a great big hug.
You are such a kind and gentle soul, and so wise beyond your years. The way you navigate through tough times with such grace is an inspiration…
I love this perspective.
This lesson, this gift, will stay with me always. Thank you.
xo
Kristin
Oh my goodness, Kristin. Your comment warmed my heart so! Thank you so, so much for your kind and generous words – and for the goodness you put into the world. xoxo
Thank you for your beauty and authenticity. It’s hard for us to see other grieve, to share it, to read about it, to embrace, but I applaud you for being open & honest. I’m certain that it helped many other people who read this today.
I recently had one of these days about my mom, who passed away almost 5 years ago. The ache is still there, very close to the surface always. I thought of something my mom would have enjoyed sharing with us, and it hit me how many things she has missed with my family. The grieving process is never done my friend!! I think you are wise to let the tears flow when they come.
Thank you for that, Sue. Yes, the other day Ryder started counting the special occasions “Papa” has already missed. I know none of those holidays will ever feel quite the same without him around. They can’t still be joyful, I know – but so different.
Those anniversaries are so very, very tough. The story of Tru with the picture put a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. It sounds like he was having a wonderful chat with your dad!
Liv,
Your words brought back so many feelings for me. My dad has been gone for 20 years. Even though so much of my life has not share with him, I know he watches over and protects me and my family.
I still feel the raw loneliness on the anniversary date each and every year. I do remember how intense it was the first few years.
To help with the sadness I felt on my Dad’s birthday, I created a ritual. On his birthday, I bought a big, bright, beautiful balloon, wrote sweet love notes all over it with a sharpie, hugged it tight, kissed it, and sent love to heaven as I released it and watched it gradually disappear. It was something that become very healing for me. My daughter also loved to write love notes on the balloon before kissing it and releasing it up to my dad.
I’m sending you lots of love and light, today.
XOXO
Eydie
Oh my gosh, Eydie! I love that. My dad’s birthday is in May and we’re already planning to celebrate – now a balloon for him will definitely be part of the day. My boys will love it. Thanks and hugs!
I came on over from the beautiful Kirstin’s blog (I sporadically attend the wonderous Paint Party Friday art celebration) This is a beautiful post & how wonderful that your dad was so loved by all his family. Big Hugs xoxo
I forgot how I got here, but I’m glad I stumbled by
Wise words, beautifully said. Thank you♥
So glad you did! Hope you’ll be back again sometime.