Death’s gift

As I  stumble through grief, I constantly return to a good friend’s advice that death offers a gift. When she first said it, I wanted to sock her. What kind of gift or blessing comes from death? I wouldn’t call my tears, often misguided anger or desire to eat my way out of sadness a blessing to anyone. In fact, I’d call all that a curse.

Often I can’t see the gift because I feel sad, tired, angry or just feel like I should be beyond the stabby part of grieving. However, the gift of my Father’s death is always right there, offering me little goodies when I am not looking. Grief continues to teach me many useful and different things.

Recently, I’ve learned to allow and accept difficult emotions in the midst of chaos. I used to stifle anything that wasn’t pink and fuzzy because that’s who I always imagined myself to be. Now when I feel the darkness of motherhood (heh heh), frustration at another driver, or a general sense of malaise, I don’t stifle that shit. I let it flow. Now that doesn’t mean I go curse anyone or anything out. It means I take a second to acknowledge whatever has popped up, see what it needs from me and move on from there.

Now, I have a 17 month old with me most of the time, so please don’t think I lounge around pondering. But what I do do, is tell Lil Boo what’s up and engage in activities that keep him safe and entertained, but allow me a bit of space. So instead of going to an super intense playground with a ton of parents who will want to talk my ear off, we’ll go to the gardens, or for a walk in a safe place where he can wonder off a bit, but still be safe.

Believe or not, my father’s death has also conferred a sense of freedom for me. I mean,  we are all free, blah blah blah. But you aren’t free if you don’t believe it or feel like it. When my father passed the obligation to stay as a little girl passed with him. I am no longer bound to home in the same way I was as a little girl. I can engage my Mother, Brothers and everyone else in a different way than before because I am no longer anyone’s little girl. Now that my Father is gone, I am a woman; which is odd to say because I feel as old as the hills. But, there it is. I’ve said it. I am finally a woman.

Now whatever comes from grief to you will be different. I am still unpacking what my Father’s death means to me. Knowing him there is much more to come in time. I’ll continue to look forward to what other gifts come in time.

Until next time, Take Precious Care of yourself.