I AM OUT OF WORDS

My father just died and I'm not really ready to write about it, but...

I started crying in the bathroom this morning because I couldn’t get the stupid pads in my sports bra unclumped. I struggled with them for three minutes, got mad, then sat on the toilet half-dressed, closed the door, and burst into tears. This is grief.

I wanted to tell you stories about my father today. I wanted to share tender memories of him with you but I can’t write them yet. I am out of words.

We buried him on Saturday in Shreveport and I got home late yesterday afternoon. They played Taps - which always rips my heart, and they presented the folded flag to Brenda, my step-mom, on bended knee. We laid roses at his headstone and my sister Charlotte brought him his favorite Snickers candy bar. It’s the little things that catch you by surprise. The Snickers bar, the specificity of it, undid me.

Over the last four years, my daddy and I had grown much closer after years of mostly superficial conversations and relationship. As I began to write and heal my stories, I reached out to him to hear more of his. They took me by surprise and brought me closer to understanding him, and as usually happens when I hear someone’s story, I had more empathy and compassion. No more stories. I lived for his stories. I encourage you that great strides in relationships can indeed be made in the just a few years. Now he is gone.

Yes, I know he is not really gone. In some ways, he is closer than ever.

But he’s gone from here, from flesh and blood, hugs, laughter, and his big southern Gomer Pyle style “ gawwww leee!” when something amazed him. He won’t wake me up in the morning when I visit him by playing “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes” “Tie A Yellow Ribbon” or “Girl from Ipanema” on his organ or by having the news on way too loud. And not my favorite news station either.

That’s all the words I can squeeze out this morning. I cannot edit this or make it more … anything.

Grief is a weird, unpredictable, winding road. I am laughing one moment, flat and numb the next, then crying over my sports bra… and round and round we go. May I be brave enough to turn and face this new grief with the courage I found to turn and face my childhood pain. May we all walk the path of grief bravely. It comes to us all. And I know it brings gifts, even as it brings us to our knees.

I’ve only just begun grieving my daddy. May he rest in peace being held in the arms of Love. I miss him.

xo Mary