Coming to understand Grief

Having not experienced it before, “Grief” seemed a far-away concept to me – like murder or kidnapping or cancer – it was something that happened to other people but never to me and I was so grateful for that.

Until that 5am phonecall on the 4th of June – where my Mom’s rough, foreign-sounding voice rang through the phone lines – it was like her voice had changed from warm honey to cold steel with bloodied spikes in it – the morning when Mom bypassed her usual happy “hello” and went straight to “Your Dad died this morning”.




Those words.

Those words changed my entire life.

Hearing them was like someone reaching into my heart and ripping it out from my torn-apart lungs and chest/breast bones (what are they called? I’m having a mental blank right now hahahhaha).

Dad can’t be dead – that was my first thought.

Dad messaged me only yesterday about how excited he was for going home.

That’s when Jesus changed the definition of home. God took Dad home. I hope Dad was just as excited to go there as he was to finally tour the Philippines.

When those words “Your Dad died” landed like BOMBS in my very being…grief introduced itself.

Grief…it isn’t a silent, comforting friend that walks quietly beside you as you try to comprehend a life without your Dad in it.

Grief instead is a rising, roaring storm of unspeakable PAIN that just comes and comes and comes. You think one day the rains will stop but they don’t. They lessen sometimes. They hail down in others.

Photo by Sebastian Voortman

But they never stop.

Grief is a resounding gong in my spirit that rings out with the words “You will never see your Dad again” “You will never hear his chesty laugh again

Dad smoked a lot, so when he laughed – and he did often – Dad would cough and cough, waving his hands in the air to signal “I’m ok” when he was clearly not, but his goofy grin remained.

If I close my eyes right now, I can hear it. Dad’s laugh. Throaty and raw…and filled with mischief and fun…and magic.

Grief is an unwelcome guest at every anniversary, tapping it’s long fingers on faded windows, reminding rudely “He’s not here anymore” whenever I turn to look at Dad to share a joke or connect eyes because a favourite song of ‘ours’ has started on the radio.

Grief pulls up a chair beside me as I work, stands beside me as I hang clothes on the line and sits at the end of bed when I try to sleep at night.

Grief – is an intense, horrible, dark, long-lasting LOUD pain that never, ever goes away.

Grief is a locked door when it’s pouring outside and you just want respite from the rain.

Grief is a fly in a warm, hearty bowl of soup on the coldest day and is the constant reminder that bad things can and will happen to me – and not just to strangers in the world around me.

I miss my Dad EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

Since the 4th of June, I have not experienced ONE DAY without crying over the loss of him. Not one.

I’m waiting, Lord. I’m waiting for the storm to stop but I’m starting to doubt it ever will.

I’m starting to forget what it feels like to have dry clothes, you know.

5 responses to “Coming to understand Grief”

  1. Your writing is like the greatest music. It speaks to my soul. Anyone who has experienced loss this great will be able to relate like I do. Especially when the news is related to you in a phone call and you are away from your beloved dad. I still hate the sound of the telephone. Life seems so cruel at times like this. Ripping your heart out. I look forward to your every post. It’s rare that someone writes this well.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Ok. I need a miniature version of you to keep in my pocket for sad days because you always cheer me up. You are like sunshine, Shanti. I’m so grateful for you. I’m just sorry you know what this heart wrenching experience 💔 is like. To have lost our Dad’s!!! I can’t bear the grief of it. I don’t know how you do it with so much kindness and creativity ✨️

      Liked by 1 person

      1. You really do lift my spirits as well. And your writing is something that inspires me and I aspire to write as well and as bravely.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. You really understand what grief is and reading your heart helps me too. I don’t feel so alone in my grief. It’s healing on another level.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. So so true. It’s like you have read my thoughts. The grief is always there, wherever you go…💔

    Liked by 1 person

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