Grief - Uninterrupted

I am sitting here tonight, as most nights, after the kids have finally gone to bed, and I take refuge in my bath or my bed, trying to be as quiet as I can. I cry, as I do most nights (in some weird way, I look forward to this). I know intellectually that my hope is in the Lord, He is sufficient, Daddy is in the presence of God, enjoying the very first fruits of his reward. But the pain is unbearable, and it comes out at night. It lurks through the busyness of the day, patient but present. I feel it always, but can push it aside when work, kids, Rachel's wedding, husband, house and church press in to a welcome distraction of comfortable chaos. But when all else ceases, the house has settled down, stores are closed and I can't escape any more, the grief presses in. I miss him soooo much! His laugh, energy, drive, enthusiasm, expectation ... you all knew him. Dad was big in every way ... he filled a room, a house, a life. He filled my life with so much security and happiness. The hole is so immense ... sometimes I just fall in. Like tonight. I am looking down the barrel of the rest of my life without the imposing force of my Dad. BLEAK! I'm floundering here. C.S. Lewis said that no one ever told him that grief felt so much like fear. That was so profoundly true in the days and weeks following Dad's death. But now that has morphed into a yawning chasm of longing, hurting, missing, fearing the loss of the finer aspects of my memories of him. The angle of his hands, how it felt to hold them... the lines on his face and how he looked at different angles ... the sound of his whistle around the house when he did the laundry, dishes, worked in the garage, whatever ... hearing his beautiful bass in church when I was standing near him and hearing that wonderful voice totally mess up the words to most of the songs (it sounded great anyway) ... the timbre of his voice; the smell of Mennen skin bracer, Vitalis hairspray, and Chapstick (I cry every time I use Chapstick); picking up the phone to call him when I don't know what else to do; waiting for him to come into town to fix everything that is broken around the house. This time it's me that's broken ... and he isn't here to fix it. I am soooo broken. All the experts say you have to grieve, cry, etc. I am grieving in all the right ways, yet I am so completely broken. There is no fixing this. I can't remember my kids names half the time, forget appointments, don't really care about work or the house. The forgetfullness is the most marked. Maybe it's just early onset dementia! Feels like it. And I cry at the most inopportune times. Grief is like Satan, just waiting for the right moment to pounce. And inevitably the right moment is the most embarrassing one. Shopping helps! For about five minutes. Drinking definitely doesn't help! You know how drinking is supposed to lower inhibitions? Well, it also lowers any resisitance to pain, fear, crying, etc. Not exactly a respite.

I know losing a parent and this whole process is supposed to be part of growing up and maturing, but it is highly overrated! I hate this more than anything I have ever experienced. I just can't see the upside. That's quite a departure for an eternal optimist.

BUT ... praise be to God that my hope is not in this finite life experience! I can declare in faith, but a faith that is confident, that I look forward to the day when I will see the face of both of my fathers, Heavenly and earthly. The interim looks grim to me right now, but that's only because I fail too often to look to the horizon. I hate grief -- but love my God. He'll see me through this too. But I can't help praying "Lord Jesus, come quickly!"

Cari