Saturday, February 25, 2012


I've been hugely introverted the past few weeks, which causes my mind to go a billion miles an hour.

I've come up with some good blog fodder, but realistically, I either don't have the motivation to write it down, have a fear deep down inside me, or lose it out of my mind in between work and the kiddos.

This morning, however, one topic kept coming to the top of my brain, and it has refused to leave me alone.


American culture is horrible with allowing people to grieve things properly. I'm not sure what it is, but it seems that while it's okay to be sad at the death of someone (or something like a season of life), we better get over it soon, or else there is something wrong with us.

The thing about grief is that it never truly goes away. It comes in waves, and while sometimes we think we have a handle on the tide and know the ebb and flow, a rogue wave comes and knocks us flat on our butts.

Grief has kind of sneaked up on me the past few weeks. Perhaps it's because I've bought into the idea that I should be "over" the sadness associated with the death of a loved one, or perhaps it's because I've been so busy that I haven't taken the time to reflect and remember. Either way, the rogue wave came and knocked me on my butt this morning as I found myself sobbing in the shower (all of my best thinking and praying is done in the shower, it's the only place I'm guaranteed five minutes of no interruptions. Don't tell Sam, but sometimes I just hang out and let the water fall over me for a few extra minutes without actually doing anything productive).

9 years ago my dad died.

I'd say that I've grown used to the idea that my dad is no longer around (not that he was a super present person while I was growing up, but that's not relevant right this second). But, really, in actuality, I don't think that I will ever get used to the idea that I simply can't call him, or blame his absence on anything else.

I find myself wondering if he would be proud of me and the woman I've become.

I wonder what kind of a grandfather he would be to his grandchildren.

I'm careful not to paint some pie in the sky ideal about him, but it doesn't stop me from wondering what our relationship would look like now.

Since my dad's death I've watched some dear friends lose their fathers. It makes my heart ache for them, because I know what they are experiencing, especially as they watch their dads slowly pass away due to cancer.

The sucky thing is, I don't have anything good to say. There aren't any positives, really. I mean, sure, they are out of pain, but really I would rather have not had them go through any pain to begin with. You know, if we're making wishes right now.

So, later this morning as I cried on Sam's shoulder, I said, "You know, I think we're supposed to be sad when someone dies. Death isn't natural. I mean--it is, but when God created us, it wasn't part of the plan. Until sin entered the world, we didn't experience pain and death."

I think this is rambling, so I will close this up. I guess my point is this. When we lose someone close to us, we need to give ourselves freedom to mourn. We have to be okay with crying at the weirdest times (like when we're in Starbucks and the song that you danced at your wedding is playing). But, we also have to give others room to mourn and grieve as well. We should never find ourselves saying to someone, "Oh, you're not over that yet?" if they say that they are sad about someone dying.

Grief sucks. But, wallowing in sadness is even suckier, so...I allow myself to cry, I allow myself to remember and wonder, and then I continue on with the present and the joys that are around, because I am surrounded by some pretty great people. :)