I wrote this for a friend, but it works like a journal entry. Sorta.
It is with utter futility that I'm writing this. You know why, right?
_____, nothing I can say or do will make you feel okay- or even the tiniest bit better. If anything, condolences and people saying "I'm so sorry" only makes it worse because you have to acknowledge the implied part of the fact of life: that, ultimately, it comes to an end.
And I don't need to post this on your wall (it probably wouldn't fit, anyway) because I'm writing this to you- and only you- not so everyone can see that I offered a shoulder to cry on or an outlet for some emotion that you probably won't accept anyway. (At least, I didn't.)
Over the past 5 days (almost a week; are you noticing yet how it feels like it's been a lifetime and also as if time can't elapse without him at all?) I've been trying to think of exactly what I want to articulate to you, but... I'm not sure because I can only speak about how I feel.
If what you're experiencing is similar to what I did, everyone you talk to gives you sad, pitying looks. They say soft, "comforting" words that are supposed to inspire you to heal and become a stronger person. Everything outward is gentle and soothing and sorrow.
But how come nobody ever mentions the ugly inward experience? I was mad. I'm still mad. At whom, I'm not quite sure. I can't be mad at my dad; he wasn't ready to die. And it's hard to be mad at someone you miss so badly, you'd give anything to see them again. I can't be mad at God; He's omnipotent and omniscient. Besides, being mad at God doesn't make you feel better. I've been so mad that I couldn't DO anything about this; I couldn't heal my dad, and I can't bring him back. In light of my helplessness, my thoughts and inclinations took another route. I wanted to scream and break things. I guess somewhere in the back of my mind and the bottom of my heart, I thought if I could show God how much pain I'm in, He'd give my dad back to us.
Seven months later, I'm still realizing that he's not going to see my college graduation or give me away at my wedding. If I have kids of my own, he'll never meet them. ... He's not going to walk through our door like he's just come back from another business trip.
And that makes me want to destroy something. Anything, really. Because my mind grasps this unavoidable truth, but my heart just can't. It can't let go. It can't believe.
But maybe there's some merit to those swaddling, empathetic cliches. Maybe time really does heal all wounds. But maybe we're not given enough time to heal a wound this deep. I hope for our families' sake, that we'll have enough time to get to a place where the smiles and laughter when we remember that great man who led our family will outnumber the tears.
But, for now, _____, if you can't smile at all... Know that I really and truly understand.
tl;dr : Daddy.
_____, nothing I can say or do will make you feel okay- or even the tiniest bit better. If anything, condolences and people saying "I'm so sorry" only makes it worse because you have to acknowledge the implied part of the fact of life: that, ultimately, it comes to an end.
And I don't need to post this on your wall (it probably wouldn't fit, anyway) because I'm writing this to you- and only you- not so everyone can see that I offered a shoulder to cry on or an outlet for some emotion that you probably won't accept anyway. (At least, I didn't.)
Over the past 5 days (almost a week; are you noticing yet how it feels like it's been a lifetime and also as if time can't elapse without him at all?) I've been trying to think of exactly what I want to articulate to you, but... I'm not sure because I can only speak about how I feel.
If what you're experiencing is similar to what I did, everyone you talk to gives you sad, pitying looks. They say soft, "comforting" words that are supposed to inspire you to heal and become a stronger person. Everything outward is gentle and soothing and sorrow.
But how come nobody ever mentions the ugly inward experience? I was mad. I'm still mad. At whom, I'm not quite sure. I can't be mad at my dad; he wasn't ready to die. And it's hard to be mad at someone you miss so badly, you'd give anything to see them again. I can't be mad at God; He's omnipotent and omniscient. Besides, being mad at God doesn't make you feel better. I've been so mad that I couldn't DO anything about this; I couldn't heal my dad, and I can't bring him back. In light of my helplessness, my thoughts and inclinations took another route. I wanted to scream and break things. I guess somewhere in the back of my mind and the bottom of my heart, I thought if I could show God how much pain I'm in, He'd give my dad back to us.
Seven months later, I'm still realizing that he's not going to see my college graduation or give me away at my wedding. If I have kids of my own, he'll never meet them. ... He's not going to walk through our door like he's just come back from another business trip.
And that makes me want to destroy something. Anything, really. Because my mind grasps this unavoidable truth, but my heart just can't. It can't let go. It can't believe.
But maybe there's some merit to those swaddling, empathetic cliches. Maybe time really does heal all wounds. But maybe we're not given enough time to heal a wound this deep. I hope for our families' sake, that we'll have enough time to get to a place where the smiles and laughter when we remember that great man who led our family will outnumber the tears.
But, for now, _____, if you can't smile at all... Know that I really and truly understand.
tl;dr : Daddy.