Grief Is Hard : Part III

It’s been three and a half months already. In many ways it seems longer. In other ways it seems much shorter. It also seems a little foggy.

A lot of the times I can’t miss him because missing him means I have to relive those last 24 hours. I had expected us to all be together holding hands with worship music playing while he peacefully passed. What actually happened felt more like a scene from my own personal horror movie. No son should ever have to see their Dad like that. He was always my safest place. I shouldn’t have seen him whither away.

The moment he passed I remember saying, “Thank you Jesus!” He wasn’t suffering anymore. This battle was over. And the relief was overwhelming. But that place of relief met a place of deep pain. And we wept.

I remember Mom coming over to me while Meg was holding me and she said, “You were always a Daddy’s boy.” And it melted me. I was. I always wanted to be doing whatever Dad was doing. I’d fish with him or just walk down to the lake with him (that was always his favorite place). I’d work on the house because I wanted to be like him when I grew up. I’d watch him fix the car or have him teach me how to mow. I wanted to be just like Dad.

In many ways though his death doesn’t hold a candle to what happens next. Now I have to live without him. Watching his death was hard enough. Why do I have to do life without him now? Why aren’t my kids ever going to know their Pepaw (as my nephew calls him)? I don’t want to tell stories about him. I want them to experience his delight. Our family got ripped apart. Our family vacations will never be the same. Our celebrations are all tainted by loss.

I try to end my writings with some sort of truth, but today (and most days right now) this is what feels true. I know and I believe that Jesus is somehow, someway enough. But today I can’t see it.

I don’t know what stage of grief that puts me at, but it’s hard.