I don’t want to go into much detail in this post, but I’m going to be sharing some thoughts on growing through grief.
At 25, I find myself without my Dad.
It’s sunk in, but not fully.
His celebration of life service has come and gone, and now, I find myself in the weird in-between stage where you know someone is gone but it doesn’t feel real.
A lot hurts.
It hurts he’s not here, it hurts I wasn’t able to give him a grandchild before he left this earth, it hurts I have to do things we had on “our” bucket list all alone now.
Life has just completely and utterly changed for my household, as well as my Mom’s.
The tears and pain come at unexpected moments during the days; either because I pass our favorite restaurant, or walk by his truck, or wear one of his shirts.
Then, the man whos been like a second dad for many years who happens to be my dads best friend of 40 years, was recently diagnosed with late stage colon cancer.
Also, I’m not ready for Father’s Day and unfortunately for me it’s coming upon us pretty quick.
If you’ve ever lost a close family member, then you also know all the other million things that you still have to do after someone passes away.
One thing, however, I am certain of: you either grow through the pain, or you drown in the pain.
My Dad would want me to grow during this time and flourish, and live the rest of my life happy and successfully. I know this.
He wouldn’t want me to just survive, never have fun again, and basically just give up.
I don’t come from a line of quitters.
I come from a line of doers, thinkers, and successful entrepreneurs.
People who built their own empires, lost everything, and tried again and again until they made it.
And I refuse to be the weak link that becomes a nothing, a quitter, a failure.
Thankfully, I know where my Dad is.
He’s in Heaven and he still hears me and he’s still with me by my side.
I’m a direct link of him and whom he chose to love.
My Papa’s death, my Dad’s dad, was very brutal for all of my family – especially my Dad.
But he didn’t give up; if anything he tried harder in life.
That’s what I intend to do.
Try harder, be better, do more, live vicariously. It’s what he did, and it’s what I’ll now do too.
I’m going to swim and get to shore in this hurricane of grief.
I’m not going to drown.
There’s an odd peace with me – I think it’s him. I really do.
He’s still here, not physically, but in many different little things throughout my day.
I’m not sure how I’ll swim back to shore, I know I’ll get tired along the way, but I’ll get there.