My dad battled a rare type of cancer for years and eventually passed away on February 14th, 2012. In this moment, as I’m writing these words, I am still grieving. And I will continue to grieve. Over the years I have thought a lot about grief. About my grief. When my maternal grandmother was passing, my dad shared with me one of his biggest lessons surrounding grief, one he learned through his own deep experience with loss. He shared that in these situations, everyone has feelings, there are no good or bad feelings, just feelings. If there is anything I have learned in my own process, it is just this. Feelings will come and go, and to just let them be.

At times I have felt completely overwhelmed by my grief. I have felt alone, afraid. I have tried to escape my grief. I’ve avoided it. I’ve rejected it. I’ve made choices from a fragmented place, desperate to feel anything other than my grief. In time I was able to sit with my grief a little more. I gave it the space it was desperately needing. I allowed the sadness and anger to come. And, none of this has been linear. It’s best described as waves in an ocean. Sometimes I’m riding them as they come, feeling connected, in control and welcoming of my grief. Other times, I’m peacefully sunbathing on a beautiful white sand beach and all of the sudden a huge wave knocks me out, sweeps me out to sea, I don’t know which way is up anymore and it feels like I’m watching him take his last breath all over again.

I think there’s a lot of misconceptions about grief. Or maybe I had a lot of misconceptions. I think I viewed it as something you did, temporarily. You endure loss, you grieve, you’re done. I believe I thought this to be true because of how very little we talk about grief. I saw my dad cry every year, just briefly, on the anniversary of his mother’s death, but we never talked about it. After my dad passed, I was held in such love. I was supported, I was comforted. And I still have a few beautiful people in my life who remember, who reach out with love when those hard dates roll around. But life goes on. I think I felt like there was a timeline. It was okay for me to completely loose my shit and break down, but only for a time. Then I felt like I was expected to be strong, to grieve and to accept. I felt like I was failing my timeline, I wasn’t doing grief right. Every time I was sucked out to sea, I felt ashamed and discouraged that I was here again. It wasn’t until I rejected the timeline, the perceived expectations, that I was able to welcome a relationship with my grief.

At this point, one of the most important relationships in my life, is with my grief. I seek to understand it. I offer compassion to my grief. I hold my grief in love. Especially on the hard days. Because the truth is, grief is not something you do, just once. Grief becomes a part of you, coming and going like waves. At times it will feel like heavy weights chained to your ankles, making you feel stagnant and exhausted. And if you welcome it, if you allow a relationship with it, grief will become one of the most beautiful parts of you, a part of you to be cherished. Grief can guide you, it can change your perspective, it can promote growth, and it begs for healing, for self exploration, for self love.

These days, my grief is constantly coming up. I remember when my dad died, I was immensely sad about all he was going to miss. I remember him telling me how maddening it was that his mind was sharp and here, but his body was failing him. He wasn’t ready to go. I have thought a lot about how painful it must have been, to leave too soon, to grieve the life he thought was ahead of him, to say goodbye. I gave a speech at his funeral. Through uncontrollable sobs, I talked about how sad I was that he would never walk me down the aisle, know my future husband or hold the babies I always wanted to mother. Knowing how desperately he wanted to be there for it all. I was sad to be in this world without my dad, and for him knowing he was going to miss so much. Now I’m here, married to a man who is so much like him and raising two beautiful boys in the community I grew up in. I’m living the life that I spoke of all those years ago. Grieving still and probably more than ever, his absence.

I continue to grieve. Every time I swing a golf club, I think of him. Every time I look up at Mt. Shasta, I think of him and the beautiful childhood I had. Every time we’re in the thick of another house project, I think of him. Every time I allow myself to be proud of my accomplishments, I think of him. Every time I see a sweet Grandpa with their Grandchildren, I think of him. Every time I watch a bride dance with her father, I think of him. Every time a holiday comes around, I think of him. At every stage of my life, every phase I’m in, I think of him. And damn, is it hard. I’m reminded of the crack that will always exist on my heart. And I’m also reminded of how much he still lives on, in me, in my children and in this beautiful community.

The one thing my dad desperately wanted more of, was time. More time. To live. So I will continue to cherish my relationship with grief, welcoming it, and allowing it to bring me closer to him. When I become aware of the crack in my heart, I will welcome a greater capacity for love. When I feel his absence, I will choose to bring him along. I will remember his laugh, his unwavering love and support, his love for life. I will tell my kids stories about “Grandpa Pete.” As he always said, I will not take for granted good health and wonderful opportunities. I will live my life fully, today, because I have the one thing he wanted more of. Time.

Be sweet to yourself,

Holly