“How long does true grief last in the heart? As long as it takes…

We live in a culture where people need us to move through our grief for the sake of their own comfort, and grief does not have a timeline. It takes as long as it takes.”

– Brené Brown

This Wednesday marks one year from my father’s death. The universal reaction of myself, my kids, and friends has been “Really?? That went fast!” A year ago, I remember having vague pre-conceived notions about how I would feel one-year after his death. The underlying assumption was a pseudo-scientific/mathematically minded one, this period of time translates to this amount of healing. The first six months has got to be the hardest (and it was), and time heals all wounds. So, if I can make it through the first year, I’ll be good. I’ll be mostly over it, right? Whatever that means…

Entering the first anniversary of the week leading up to Dad’s funeral feels a little like entering the passion of Holy Week, anticipating the sorrow of Good Friday while clinging to the joy of Easter Sunday’s resurrection and promise of everlasting life.

The Worst Club Ever

“Welcome to the club,” I remember hearing from a few empathetic friends in the days and hours after losing my dad. Trying to lighten the mood with one simple phrase, the salutation conveyed “We get it. We’ve been there. We are in it with you.” Intimately knowing the enormity of loss, grief, and pain that is inexplicable until you’ve crossed the irreversible chasm. Until you’ve lived it, you cannot possibly know how to process it. There is no instruction manual. It has no timeline. Other club kids regardless of age, have helped me find my way. In addition, there have been many special people who lovingly helped my Dad, my family, and me carry this cross. If you are one of those people (you know who you are) and are reading this, thank you from the bottom of my heart!

A One Year Perspective

So here I am, one year later. Time has led to healing, and the journey of coming to full acceptance is far from over. Facing hard memories of how the week unfolded, I am overwhelmed with complex emotions and profound gratitude.

Losing a parent is life-altering under any circumstance, and there has been so much beauty in it. I think the reason it has felt like it went by so fast is that my Dad has been more present in my day-to-day thoughts and feelings than ever. It hasn’t really felt like he’s gone, but that his presence in my life has shifted to a mix of faith, hope, and love that crosses the continuum of time and space.

Aristotle’s cliché, “Everything happens for a reason” was difficult to comprehend a year ago and invalidated my immediate pain. I had faith that this was true, but lacked the hope and objectivity that comes with perspective. This past year, the peace that surpasses understanding has led me to fuller acceptance. It has allowed me to see the joy and sweetness in the love I’ve shared with Dad both in his life and since his death.

Atlas of the Heart

The Places We Go When our Heart is Open

In the early spring I had the opportunity to attend a fireside chat with Brené Brown. Upon learning about her docuseries “Atlas of the Heart” (based on her latest book by the same title), I went home and binge watched it. I laughed. I cried. Mostly, I was struck by our shared experience of human emotion. I highly recommend it to any fellow members of the Kids with Parents in Heaven Club or anyone looking to deepen their self-awareness and interpersonal acumen of human behavior. “Atlas of the Heart” explores the places we go when the heart is open, deeply examining aspect of our humanity.

Regarding grief, Brown offers that “there is no blueprint for how to cope. It takes as long as it takes.” Grief brings us into many corners of our heart and the places we go when we are hurting, when we feel wronged, or when things are just too much to take in.

Accepting the Unacceptable

Long before Brené Brown put forth language to articulate her research canvasing the heart, Dr. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross pioneered the study of human responses to death and dying, producing an early model for how we process grief.

Dr. Kübler-Ross named five primary stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Caitlin Stanaway, Psy.D., describes these stages as useful both to process change and protect ourselves as we adapt to our new reality. While there are some consistent elements, the stages can cycle quickly, come out of order, and/or return.

Grieving looks different for everyone – even within a family, especially within a family.

The Lead Up

Denial & Bargaining

Silly me, a year ago I thought I’d come to acceptance even before I lost my dad! I had been working towards accepting this reality with intention in anticipation of what was coming. It had been a long road to that day, unfolded over decades, with a tumultuous two to three years leading up to the end.

For me this showed up as a rollercoaster of fear and anxiety fueled by lack of control and my worst case scenario predictions (e.g., Dad dying alone in a hospital due to COVID protocols or alone at the farm when my mother was away).

It was almost impossible for me to accept that my role in this tangled mess was simply daughter and sister and not hospital executive that could sweep in, provide access to world class care, and enforce best practices. It was humbling and infuriating. There was a mix of guilt and shame in not wanting to admit that I longed for the rollercoaster to come to an end.

Looking back on it, I think I did move through denial and made some progress with bargaining, but my grief journey was also just beginning. Without intending to, I found myself blaming my Dad for his life choices, blaming my Mom for not being able to convince him otherwise (an impossible feat given Dad’s stubbornness), blaming the brokenness of a healthcare system that wasn’t serving Dad well, and blaming myself for not being able to influence it.

I also suddenly felt deep insecurity around my own life choices of living far away, whether or not I’d come home enough in the last few decades, and ridiculous comparisons of my Dad’s relationship and love for me vs. that of my siblings. I questioned if I had been at the bottom of the totem pole when it came to closeness with Dad, not appreciating what I know to be true as a mother. The love between a parent and child is immeasurable and absolutely looks different with each kid.

The Immediate Aftermath

Anger & Depression

Shortly after Dad died, my husband and I were talking with a friend who is a trained clinical psychologist. I had uncharacteristically been lashing out with bursts of intense emotion mixed, coupled with a deep underlying sadness. The combination was beginning to take a toll of our marriage.

When four months later, my closest Uncle (my Dad’s brother died), the anger truly set in. In my mother-in-law’s wise words, “Sometimes life can feel downright cruel.”

It showed up for me as sarcasm, irritability, and pessimism. It wouldn’t take much to pull me into an argument. At times, I was weepy, had reduced motivation, and started sleeping more than usual.

Never having been a big TV watcher, binging Downton Abbey and Hamilton on Disney+ sipping wine provided pockets of much needed escapism as I worked through the emotional overwhelm. This period overlapped with undetected malignant melanoma. Looking back on it, my tiredness was likely a mix of psychological and physical fatigue.

My husband commented a few times that I was not showing up as the Mary he knew. I’ve always been an optimist, had boundless energy, and high motivation. Our friend coached Matt “not to take it personally, nor try to solve it through reason.”

She went on to explain that when one loses a parent, the emotional reaction can be best be compared to “projectile vomit,” as waves of grief rolled in. I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t trying to be difficult. I didn’t need him to solve this for me.

I needed him to stand by me and “hold my hair back” as I worked through it. That was what love and support looked like right now.

Moving forward while honoring the past

Acceptance

One year in, I have done a fair bit of processing and healing, but there was no magic euphoria of coming to acceptance. Am I fully there? I honestly don’t know. The process has not been linear, nor predictable. I will say that I’ve made some strides in my ability to validate my own emotions, practice self-compassion, and more skillfully cope. There is courage and wisdom in that.

Daily Reminders of You

The taxi driver who brought me to the airport after Dad’s funeral said something that felt mystical at the time, “Look for signs.” She was trying to be supportive, and I didn’t fully discredit this advice. I put it in the category of a nice thing to say to someone who had just lost a loved one.

I’m sure much of it results of my raised awareness, but there have been signs or at least daily reminders. Much like once Matt & I started shopping for baby strollers for the first time, I started noticing them everywhere. The same was true with daily reminders of my father.

Dad, not a day goes by that you don’t cross my mind multiple times. Whether it is seeing an American flag, an eagle (really any birds of prey) soaring, or a Starbucks, it triggers a moment of feeling close to you. It happens when I manually dial Mom’s telephone number and hover for a second on the last numbers – yours and hers were only one digit apart.

At times, it is literally a sign, like the Westchester Airport Exit on my commute that you always talked about flying into. Driving to church, I pass Kingsbury Rd and have made a habit out of lifting up a prayer for you and our beautiful extended family. Days I work in Greenwich, CT, I cross Douglas Dr (your middle name) and note it.

Last August, I walked into one of those year-round Christmas Stores in a beach community, and I saw the black military baseball cap you always wore as an ornament. I had to buy one for each member of our family! We planted a tree in the yard and visit it with Matt, Natalie, & Zachary. We’ll be planting flowers around it on Wednesday. Natalie still sleeps with her Grandpa Ralph quilt we got in the lobby from the Fargo Veteran’s Hospital Auxillary. Mom sent me a box of your shirts, and I found a quilter on Etsy who is making a cozy quilt for Zachary.

Feeling Your Presence

There are moments when I feel your presence. I felt you holding me in the operating room last month during my cancer surgery. When I hear your windchime’s soft music blowing in the wind, I pause and talk to you as if you are there with me. There is a specific votive candle that I light at church for you and pray using you as an intercessor as I talk to God.

When I sing, I harken your spirit. I remember how you used to pull me close and lean your head against mine at Christmas when I was singing from the pews. On Veteran’s Day, an American flag with an eagle on the pole was placed right behind the cantor’s lectern, it made me smile ear-to-ear and feel like you were up there with me. If your favorite hymns are chosen, you better believe I’m offering them up especially for you!

I even have this silly imagery each time I sing the dancing melody of the Celtic Alleluia. I imagine a line of angels from the Gates of Heaven down the nave singing along with me and the congregation. I imagine you and other family members smiling back at me from the other side.

Even at the end, music was our medium to connect when you couldn’t speak. I called from New York and Leah put me on speaker phone. In those final days, I sang at your bedside keeping vigil. Moments after you’d passed away, Kelly, Allison (on speaker phone), and I sang as your presence lingered.

Remembering the Person You Were…

There have been a few moments where it felt like a Divine hand was at play making a profoundly serendipitous connection between us. I’ve come to better understand you across times and space, remembering your full life and the person you were before you became so sick. The painful memories are beginning to fade and sweet ones surface.

Writing your obituary with Kelly helped lift some of these memories, as did hearing stories that people shared about you. To close, I want to share some dear memories Matt & I made walking in your footsteps at Fort Ord, CA.

Before You Were Our Dad

Celebrating 15 years of marriage, Matt and I decided to extend a work trip to explore the Pacific coast of Monterey, Carmel, and Big Sur. The one spot I had on my “must see” list was Fort Ord, CA. Dad always talked fondly about being stationed there prior to flying out to Korea.

Dad did not see a lot of the world in his lifetime. The majority of his life was happily spent in the Red River Valley of North Dakota. So it was with great affection and an air of worldliness that Dad would tell us tales of being a young solider on the coast of Monterey Bay, reading books written by John Steinbeck on the beach and going to the movies at the historic Carmel Theatre.

Putting myself in Dad’s shoes as a young man a long way from home heading off to war, I tried to see this place through his eyes and felt a connection to my dad before he was my dad that I had never considered before. Dad had his full life ahead of him. He had just graduated with his Masters in Economics following undergrad, the first in his family to go to college. He hadn’t met mom yet and the four of us kids were just a twinkle in his eye.

It was stark reminder of the full spectrum of life and love. It wasn’t until I called my mom strolling through the shops in Carmel that I realized that Dad had returned there with her when they were first married. How romantic! It seemed fitting that Matt and I were experiencing it together on a get-away for marriage.

After checking out Fisherman’s Wharf in Monterey, we set off to find the Fort Ord National Monument. There is a pretty big shift from the seaside to Fort Ord.  Tall trees all but go away and it’s desert brush with shrubs on rolling mountains/hills.  We did see some soaring hawks which felt fitting. It reminded me quite a bit of Medora, ND, which may have contributed to Dad’s fondness for it. We hiked the meandering Army trails Dad trained on and had some laughs picturing a young Ralphy being ordered to charge up them. 

“In every conceivable manner, family is [a] link to our past, [and a] bridge to our future.”

– Alex Haley

Before You Got Sick

As we hiked, I played songs by Buddy Holly and The Beach Boys which I listen to when I want to feel close to Dad.  Early memories of cramming into the dusty backseat of Dad’s pick-up truck and singing along with him to oldies cassette tapes roused nostalgia.

At the top of one hill, we saw the cross of a church and ventured up to explore it.  Low and behold, in the church garden, there was an American flag with an eagle on the pole in a garden. It felt meant to be.

Matt and I used the opportunity to sit and share some Dad stories.  Matt recalled the experience of asking Mom and Dad to go for coffee to ask for their blessing before he proposed.  Mom got the significance, but Dad was clueless, more focused on his coffee than what was about to happen. 

Another favorite Dad memory was the big tearful hug he gave me before walking down the aisle. Who can forget Dad dramatically casting his suit coat on the floor before our first dance?  Thinking hard, I pulled up the song we danced to, “Butterfly Kisses” by Bob Carlisle, on my phone, appreciating the lyrics as I never had before. Needless to say, I had a good healing cry. 

The next morning, I truly could not believe it when on a breakfast run to grab crepes from a place on Cannery Row, I turned on the radio. Cutting through the static, I heard the second verse of Butterfly Kisses playing. Perhaps it was sheer coincidence. Perhaps the almighty powers of FM radio were messing with me. Either way, in that moment I got the message loud and clear, while you may be gone I have not lost you.

Your Role in Who I am Today

The older I get, the more I have come to appreciate the journey that has brought me to who I am today. Each of us has a story. Our story begins even before we enter the scene in the hardy stock that bring us into the world. The love of our parents, our grandparents, and/or those individuals who shape our deepest values spans time and space. Their confident hope carries us even before we are born. In turn, we carry them in the deepest memories of our heart which even death cannot separate.

Some of life’s milestones rock you to the core of your being, making you question everything you thought you knew. Losing a parent is one of those milestones. While I may never fully come to acceptance, this past year has brought great healing, profound wisdom, and a culmination of sweet memories. You live on in me and in all of us who loved you.

Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror;

then we shall see face to face.

Now I know in part;

then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

And now these three remain:

faith, hope and love.

But the greatest of these is love.

1 Corinthians 13:12-13

Lyrics: Butterfly Kisses – Bob Carlisle & Randy Thomas

“There’s two things I know for sure:
She was sent here from heaven and she’s daddy’s little girl.
As I drop to my knees by her bed at night

She talks to Jesus and I close my eyes
And I thank god for all of the joy in my life
Oh, but most of all

For butterfly kisses after bedtime prayer
Sticking little white flowers all up in her hair
‘Walk beside the pony, Daddy, it’s my first ride.’
‘I know the cake looks funny, Daddy, but I sure tried.’
Oh, with all that I’ve done wrong, I must have done something right

To deserve a hug every morning And butterfly kisses at night.

Sweet sixteen today
She’s looking like her mama a little more everyday
One part woman, the other part girl.

To perfume and make-up from ribbons and curls
Trying her wings out in a great big world.
But I remember…
Butterfly kisses after bedtime prayer
Sticking little white flowers all up in her hair.

‘You know how much I love you, Daddy
But if you don’t mind I’m only gonna kiss you on the cheek this time.’
Oh with all that I’ve done wrong I must have done something right
To deserve her love every morning and butterfly kisses at night.

All the precious time
Like the wind, the years go by.
Precious butterfly.
Spread your wings and fly.

She’ll change her name today.
She’ll make a promise and I’ll give her away.
Standing in the bride-room just staring at her.

She asked me what I’m thinking and I said
‘I’m not sure-I just feel like I’m losing my baby girl.’
She leaned over
Gave me butterfly kisses with her mama there
Sticking little white flowers all up in her hair

‘Walk me down the aisle, Daddy-it’s just about time.’
‘Does my wedding gown look pretty, Daddy? Daddy, don’t cry’
Oh, with all that I’ve done wrong I must have done something right.
To deserve her love every morning and butterfly kisses
I couldn’t ask God for more, man this is what love is.

I know I gotta let her go, but I’ll always remember
Every hug in the morning and butterfly kisses…”