If I stare at myself long enough in the mirror I can see my father’s eyes. In the four months that my Dad has passed, I find myself doing this quite a bit, it’s almost become a ritual. Staring in the mirror searching for my father’s eyes. I caught myself doing this at a red light the other day, I can only imagine what the driver next to me was thinking. “No Officer, I’m not drunk, I’m just searching for my dead father in my reflection.”
Through my father’s eyes I can see happiness and hope. I can remember the good times, the times when he was healthy and we laughed. The times when I danced on the top of his feet to doo wop music in the living room. The times when he was enjoying his favorite meal and was cancer free. Through my father’s eyes I can see my biggest fan cheering me from the sidelines, always encouraging me to better myself.
I share my father’s DNA and much of his personality. I want to be happy again, but grieving is so complicated. My grief has morphed me into a real life Dr. Jekyll and Hyde. My heart hurts and my shoulders ache from the pressures of grieving. The agonizing pain of grief has ripped a hole in my heart and left a massive void.
This blog, this community of readers are an incredible resource. I find solace with each and every one of you. Strangers connected by our own tremendous loss. Each of us desperately trying to find our way.
Friends have said, “You’re still upset???” I lost my father, the man who raised me, my best friend, he was a significant part of my life. I’m starting to think that some individuals mourn the loss of their iPhone more than the loss of a loved one.
Death and grief are taboo despite the fact that we all die. A simple act of acknowledging someone’s loss provides incredible comfort to the griever. If you don’t acknowledge our pain you are slamming the door in our face and putting us on mute, you are sending us a message that our loss is insignificant to you.
“In the end we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.” Martin Luther King Jr.
It’s been four months since my father has been given his angel wings. How can four months seem so endless, yet go by so quickly? I still feel like I’m waiting, waiting for him to come home from the hospital. Waiting for him to answer the phone and announce, “It’s my Lisa Mia!” Eventually I will realize that he’s not coming home from the hospital and he won’t be answering the phone anymore. I hope I’m strong enough to handle that moment. Right now I’m ok with living in denial because the pain is unbearable.
Countless individuals have shown my family the power of true, unconditional love. Friends near and far have moved heaven and earth for one purpose. To help memorialize their great friend and provide comfort and support to his family. I am forever indebted to these folks. There are not enough thank you’s for the love you continue to show my family.
Grief rips you apart.
Grief changes you.
It’s difficult to imagine I will never see my father’s face again or hear his voice again. Even in death he is showing me that he’s by my side. I see my father in my dreams, a few nights ago I was hugging him so tight, knowing when I let go he would vanish. He was glowing, he was smiling again, he was healthy again. I felt a grandiose sensation of peace and love, I didn’t want to let go. He smiled and told me to “Be happy.” I believe that was a visitation dream. I struggle to find the words to describe the feeling of love and comfort that dream gave me. My wish is for anyone reading this and is grieving to have the same experience. It was a monumental moment during my grieving process. I am constantly finding fluffy white feathers, I even felt him brush my hair back the other day. I am never alone, my father is always with me, and I’m beyond grateful. But I’m selfish, I want my father here like it used to be.
I wanted a miracle.
I wanted my father healthy again.
I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
I miss my father’s guidance and wisdom. I miss my father’s friendship. I miss the beautiful rapport I had with my father, his ability to be my father yet speak to me like I was his equal.
I miss my father!
I return to the mirror and search for my father’s eyes. Through my father’s eyes I can see my journey, my future. It’s blurry, but he is urging me to continue, to find happiness as I memorialize him. I don’t want to lose sight of my journey, so with a heavy heart I will carry on. Through my father’s eyes I can see a reflection of who I am meant to be.
“The pain you feel today will be the strength you feel tomorrow.” – Unknown