Where My Grief Is Not Safe

And what else I have learned.

I am no expert.

I know death, I know it well, but this…this is a heartbreak I wasn't prepared for.

I anticipated the loss and the grief for months, but the reality is far more painful.

I've learned much about myself in these nearly ten months since Dad exhaled for the final time.

I've learned much about people as well. 

I've learned there are safe places for grieving and not-so-safe places. 

I've learned that grieving aloud is therapeutic and precarious. 

I don't seek opinions regarding my grief; I don't need guidance on how to grieve or how to feel, as I do not instruct others on how to feel or mourn. 

I have no agenda or plan. 

This segment of my life is not a journey that will transition to a place of no grief. 

This loss is forever. 

The shattered fragment of where Dad's life resided in my heart is gone. 

Now, there are ribbons of sunbeams and raven ink. 

The joy and sorrow. 

The love and mourning.

The tears and screams.

I am no longer in survival mode, which means the truths of what my eyes witnessed, my ears heard, what my hands felt, what words fell from my mouth, what my brain absorbed, and what my heart absorbed are crashing within.    

The body remembers.

It's a sensory of immensity. 

It's emotional electrocution. 

It's a cry ripped from my lungs. 

It's a sacred loss and one that is eternal. 

And one that doesn't require comparison but quiet. 

It requires compassion and love, not judgment or instruction, for everyone grieves differently.

There isn't a secret formula. 

There isn't a perfect self-help book or grief guru. 

Yes, there is commonality, but not exact. 

Even those in the dead dad's community are similar but not the same. 

Our experiences are our own.

I've stepped back from social media as I do not find it a safe place for my grief. I am around in a limited capacity. I express my grief to those I trust and I do feel more comfortable expressing what transpires here in this space.  

I will not adjust my grief to make others more satisfied. 

I've learned that time is fragile and life is brief; therefore, I will no longer poison my well. 

This is my live fucking life era. 

The depth of death echoes life.

Engulfed in laughter, stories, and conversations with dear ones is how I honor Dad and his life and insight. 

He showed me the magic I'd forgotten. 

Moonlight.

Prairie winds.

Botanical delight. 

I didn't imagine that, as I approached 44, I would not have Dad physically here. However, I feel the beautiful whisps of his spirit, his witty nature, and his care and protection. In my dreams I touch his hands and cheek and cry, “You look so good. You feel so good.”

He leaves me with a smile and silly face.

As this grief settles into the marrow of my bones and constructs new cells in my DNA, I steady myself in this life and remember Dad's words, "Don't have regrets. I have regrets I don’t want that foy you guys. I want you to be happy. Just live."

Just live.