A few thoughts on a “peculiar grief”:
We went to Minnesota this December and while we were there, Jason and I had the opportunity to visit my dad’s wife. I had not seen her since I was 15 years old, so of course a whole lot has changed. It was such a sweet time together and I was so grateful. We talked for a long time about him, his stories from growing up, family members, his passing and how she was doing. We watched videos of him on YouTube, looked at old family photos from when he was a child, when they were just married or when he had played in various bands and with other musicians. When we left, it felt like she was another member in this family that I am finally having the opportunity to know and love and be a part of. I am so grateful for that time.
She did leave me with a few phrases, a few different things she spoke, that I just could not shake. They stayed in my mind for days afterward, playing on repeat, almost on a loop that stayed with me even as we settled back home and tried to get back into the routines of everyday life. I had not been able to name what I was feeling, but settled on regret. In some ways, regret might be an applicable or appropriate description, because there are ways I could have done much better in communication over the years (and still can with all of my family now- that is probably my most major downfall/flaw!). Regret did not aptly describe what I was feeling, but I went with it as a good descriptor because I couldn’t quite place everything that was swirling around inside based on a few lines spoken. I finally decided to tell a group of people I was with and their responses surprised me. Maybe even more than that, my response to their responses surprised me. I was almost defensive of my dad, of the life I have lived, the story I have been given. I was in that sort of state where you can’t quite figure out how to communicate your thoughts adequately, know you aren’t doing it well and thus feel misunderstood, all in one.
Now I had something new to think about. I went home and sat on what was said prayerfully for a few days. One night while having a conversation with the Lord, it hit me that what I was feeling, what I was struggling with, was grief. I was truly and finally grieving the loss of my dad, over three years later. I know when he first passed, I felt almost strange grieving. I didn’t know how to grieve the loss of him back then, especially far from family and familiarity. He was my father and I did have some really sweet memories with him. I did care deeply about him, loved him, but I also hadn’t seen him in person in about 14 years or so. It felt awkward to be so genuinely upset about my dad passing, especially to others who have or had close relationships with their dads. So I stuffed that part away for awhile and did nothing to address it.
Then, everything changed. We went to Mexico last summer, saw where he lived and met some of his dear friends, heard much more about his life both in recent years and year past, saw what an impact he had made on a community, met my very own brother and aunt and cousin in person, and heard story after story of my family’s history. Suddenly, my dad was an entirely different person to me. He was a person who went through tremendous hardship, pushed his way through, followed a path he loved and made a life that brought him joy. I heard stories and comments that showed me he did love me. Realizing that fact of his love alone for probably the first time in my whole life just gutted me. It also meant the world to me.
When I met my aunt, she made a comment right away about herself that caused me to look at Jason and as we made eye contact, he just laughed because it was something that also so entirely described me. My brother and I, who had never spent any real length of time together, spent hours together in a period of a few days and shared many of the same mannerisms. Jason and I would share a story about our children and find out about a family member with the same talent, mannerism or quirk.
We connected as family right away. It was as though there had always been this part of me who was never quite sure who I was or where this unique quirk or pattern had come from, never quite fit in some ways with the family members I grew up with and around, and then I met these few people and it all seemed to make more sense. This also has seemed to bring a whole fresh layer of grief I hadn’t allowed myself to feel before, as I miss my dad as the person I now know he was. I miss the opportunity I could have had to get to know him on a deeper level as the adult I am now. It feels strange or funny or not quite right in some ways to admit that my heart hurts and I think of him often lately with a deep sadness, especially since it has been a few years and also since it wasn’t a father daughter relationship that was particularly close as others know it to be or where we shared the same household. We may not have shared the same household, but we did share the same blood. He was my father and I have only begun to realize how much that truly does mean. In ways I can’t or don’t always understand, he was a part of me and now that part is gone. It makes me sad. That is okay. Learning to grieve with what I might call “peculiar grief” or a unique grief has been good for me. I’m not alone in it; I’m so thankful to have Jesus carrying this with me.
Not all stories are “as they should be”. Not all stories make perfect sense. That doesn’t mean there isn’t a whole lot of goodness to be found and where there is goodness, there is also bound to be loss and pain. We can carry both. For now, I’m just glad to know and be a part of family I affectionately like to call “the good old Yorks.”