A Tender Observation

“I’m not sure you’ve had a chance to fully heal from the death of your father.”

It hit me like a ton of bricks when a close friend candidly made this observation.

“What!?” I asked. How could that be?

Everything I’d read on the topic suggested the first six months were the hardest. It had now been seven.

Dad’s end-of-life journey had been drawn out over years. It was a cruel spiraling rollercoaster, anticipating what was to come. At times, I sent up prayers for mercy asking for an end to his suffering. I thought I had gone through the stages of grief and had come to acceptance.

I’d done all the “right things.” We planted a Magnolia tree in our yard in his memory. There are windchimes engraved with his name in my backyard. I stop and send up an “I love you, Dad” every time I hear them.

Feeling a touch defensive, I recounted out loud that I had been a mess on Dad’s birthday, and again at the 6-month anniversary of his death. I’ve come to understand that crying is one of the most healing physical functions/emotional release that we have as humans. I had cried, which meant I had healed, right? Sort of…

Taking Stock of Past Pillars of Strength

“Mary, you’ve been going non-stop. You have been through a lot.”

Fair. There was truth in that. It wasn’t just Dad, I had since lost Uncle Bill and my work relationships (and built reputation) at NYU Langone all in six months’ time. My self-justifying sputtering was coming up short and I knew it. It wasn’t a dig, it was genuine concern and empathy.

Two foundational pillars of strength who had anchored my childhood, my Dad and his brother, my Godfather, were now gone and up in heaven. I feel their presence and am reminded of them both daily, but the urge to pick up the phone to call them or shoot them a message is still poignantly sad.

I smiled, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

I took a risk and left a company I’d grown up in over 15 years, and hundreds of accompanying relationships. On top of grieving the people I had come to love and trust, I was mourning my past credibility, encyclopedic historical knowledge, and proven track record as I started over at Yale.

Looking back over the past 2+ years, my husband and I had come through a barrage of trials that shook our little family. I had been a healthcare worker in New York City during Wave 1 (and 2, and 3, etc.) responding in crisis.

We’ve all lived through the hardest chapter in modern human history. We are now just starting to return to some semblance of normal…finally. And now war in the Ukraine…mounting into who knows what.

Yes, cumulative grief is real. My dear reader, the details of your journey may be different, and I imagine we all have accumulated grief since Spring 2020.

What does healing look like?

Healing is a Journey

About a month ago, I started a new role at Yale New Haven Health as the Vice President of Strategy. Despite flexibility, I have been making a point to get my tail to New Haven and our delivery network sites as much as possible to build relationships, work towards fluency in the lingo (and myriad of acronyms), and quickly learn the ropes.

Audiobooks and the Hamilton soundtrack quicken the trip. Still as I’m forced to “do nothing” on my drive commute, I find my mind wandering, tripping onto conscious and unconscious thoughts, and surfacing underlying emotions. Feeling a bit like a bird with a clipped wing, I’ve been surprised by the vulnerable moments of grief that have crept in.

Sometimes it’s hearing a phrase of a song that triggers a thought and brings tears. Sometimes its seeing a hawk or eagle (Dad’s favorites) soar between the trees on either side of the Hutchinson River and Merritt parkways. Sometimes its seeing a landmark like the sign for the Westchester County Airport in White Plains, NY and it surfaces Dad’s memory. Resisting squashing the emotion (instinctual for me), I have been trying to approach it with curiosity and be brave enough to face the my emotions.

A Flashback to my Last New Beginning

It was late 2013, I had started a new role leading Strategy at NYU Langone Health. We bought our first home in Scarsdale, NY, saying goodbye to Brooklyn. Adjusting to our new commute into the city, we booked a slot for Natalie (then 3-years-old) at the daycare a block from the train station. We were on the waitlist for a coveted infant slot for Zachary.

To bridge the childcare gap, my parents came out to help us for about a month. Mom & Dad had a great time with both Natalie and Zachary. While I worked, Dad cared for Zachary during the day. We moved the changing table to the first floor to avoid stairs. Without complaint, Dad warmed up bottles, changed diapers, and relished snuggle time with Zachary. To be honest, it was probably more work than he’d done with each of us kids growing up and he loved it. It was also the last time Dad would be well enough to visit, given the inherent walking/strength traveling through a NYC airport requires.

Every trip home to the Midwest that we made in those next seven years (including 6 weeks before his death), my Dad would talk emphatically about making another trip out to visit us. He had it all figured out. He’d fly into the Westchester County Airport, a much smaller regional airport that required less walking. He wanted nothing more than to see Natalie and Zachary. He even booked this trip, but Dad was hospitalized shortly thereafter never making the flight.

Forgiveness:

Dad, as I start this new chapter without you, I can feel you with me, watching over my commute. I know how much you wanted to make that flight. We came to visit you as often as we could. It was mutually painful that you were not able to come visit us. I now realize that any sharp quills or behaviors you made toward me in your later years weren’t intended to be hurtful. It was your way of saying “I love you. I’m hurting, and it’s hard to be apart.” We both did our best to stay close despite the distance.

A Flashback to our Last Goodbye

As the four of us kids left your bedside to split off to grab dinner, John & Kristen each said their goodbyes. They needed to head back to the Twin Cities and knew they wouldn’t see you again. Kelly chimed in after Kristen and added her goodbye. Perhaps not uncommon for me in our family dynamic. I remained quiet, gave you a hug and a kiss, and said “See you after dinner, Dad.” I was on for the night watch.

Stepping back into your room that night, I accidentally flipped on the brightest light over your bed. I hadn’t noticed it before, as the tile lit up with clouds and a piercing light. We spent your final moments together, holding hands with tears filling in my eyes as I said my goodbye to you for the last time. I told you that it was ok to go in peace with God.

Last Tuesday, I picked up my parking permit at our St. Raphael’s campus. I stepped into the parking garage elevator, seeing the identical ceiling tile as I punched the number for my floor it felt like a punch in the stomach, taking my breath away. The cynic in me thought “those tiles must be pretty common.” Then resisting the urge to squash my own emotions (again, instinctual), tried instead to ride the wave.

I texted my best friend a photo of it, sharing the connection with Dad’s hospital room. Her response was immediate. That same panel was above the imaging equipment in Virginia where she’d done her treatment going through cancer about eleven years ago. Before each scan, Allison would gather prayer requests that helped her get through it. My dad had been near the top of her prayer list every scan.

Confiding in my friend that these “triggers” had been hard on me. I was challenged to consider if they were truly “triggers” (negative connotation) or rather “memories” (a more positive interpretation). While I had lost these two pillars of strength and inspiration from my childhood, perhaps each encounter with their memory could feel a bit like placing a boulder in rebuilding those pillars towards heaven.

Gratitude:

Dad, the very last update on my life that I shared with you was that I was the finalist for this role Yale. While non-verbal, you had a big physical reaction showing how excited you were. On my drive home last night, rounding out Week 4 in the role, I desperately wanted to call you to tell you how it was going. Instead, I turned off the radio and talked to you, feeling your presence as the tears rolling down my cheeks. How proud you would have been! To quote my brother, the entire town of Grafton and half of Park River (and likely Hoople & St. Thomas) would have known about my new role through word of your own mouth. You probably would have pushed for an article in the Grafton Herald (which always embarrassed me to no end).

In John’s Eulogy, he also picked one quality that he sees in each of us kids that reminds him of you. For me, it was “taking center stage” and connecting with people. This isn’t something I had seen in myself at the time John said it, but anytime I catch myself commanding the attention of a group, I now think of you. There have been many times I’ve needed to do so in my role since starting at Yale. I channel your humor, charisma, and love for people each time I do.

Taking up the Role of being a Pillar of Strength for Others

Appreciating the role both Dad and Uncle Bill played in my own childhood and character formation has caused me to pause and consider “who am I impacting with my life?” My own children, Natalie and Zachary, shot to the top of the list, followed by my dear nieces and nephews, and Godchildren. I’d add those in the team’s I’ve been lucky enough to lead. I also considered some of the young people I have the privilege to work with through my small voice studio and service to the Boys & Girls Club.

In a nanosecond of clarity, I thought about my children and the arc of loving them throughout their lives. They frequently vie for attention. If they cannot get positive attention, they will seek negative attention. I love them each fully at the core of my being, and sometimes one is a bit easier to love than the other depending on what stage of development they are each going through.

Perhaps life is like a bridge with three anchoring structures, 1) those who came before us who shaped who we are, 2) our own impact carrying forward their investment, and 3) the future through whom we invest and share our gathered wisdom and love.

Reflection: I was your third daughter following two very impressive, headstrong, and competitive older sisters and followed by your only son. Indeed there was a similar vying for attention, both positive and negative, in our own household growing up. For years, I have interpreted the family dynamic and distribution of attention to infer that I was the absolute lowest on the list in terms of your love. I wasn’t always sure I was even on the list.

Trying to get some precious time with you, I’d sit quietly by your recliner as you watched TV to unwind after a long day farming. I’d patiently watch Walter Cronkite, “60 Minutes,” and the History Channel sitting at your feet. You’d ask me to fetch you a fork, Q-tip, or salt & pepper. Without complaint, I always did.

At the time, I didn’t feel your love in these moments. In fact, I assumed they meant very little to you. Looking back on it through the lens of it were me with one of my children, I now realize how special that would be to me. Considering the opposite of what I’ve believed all these years, perhaps I was easier to love, at times? Ours was a quiet, understood love, and I know it was there. I’ll never know why I was the one you waited for to be at your side as you passed over into heaven. Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe it was simply “my shift.” Nonetheless, I’ll forever be grateful to had that opportunity and deeply spiritual experience. I love you, Dad! My heart is at peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-15

1To everything there is a season,

and a time for every purpose under heaven:

2a time to be born and a time to die,

a time to plant and a time to uproot,

3a time to kill and a time to heal,

a time to break down and a time to build,

4a time to weep and a time to laugh,

a time to mourn and a time to dance,

5a time to cast away stones and a time to gather stones together,

a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,

6a time to search and a time to count as lost,

a time to keep and a time to discard,

7a time to tear and a time to mend,

a time to be silent and a time to speak,

8a time to love and a time to hate,

a time for war and a time for peace.

God’s Works Remain Forever

9What does the worker gain from his toil? 10I have seen the burden that God has laid upon the sons of men to occupy them. 11He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men, yet they cannot fathom the work that God has done from beginning to end.

12I know that there is nothing better for them than to rejoice and do good while they live, 13and also that every man should eat and drink and find satisfaction in all his labor—this is the gift of God. 14I know that everything God does endures forever; nothing can be added to it or taken from it. God does it so that they should fear Him. 15What exists has already been, and what will be has already been, for God will call to account what has passed.