And then you were gone…

July 4th with forever be etched in my memory. The utter shock and disbelief when I got THAT phone call- THE ONE no one wants to receive.

I still remember everything about that moment. Where I was sitting, what the weather was like, everything moving in slow motion.

My heart falling to my feet when I heard the tone of voice.

“I’m sorry to tell you this, your dad had a heart attack. He didn’t make it.”

My mum having to make one of the worst calls of her life. Telling her kids that their father was no longer alive. Then in turn I had to tell my kids that grandpa wasn’t coming home from vacation.

The anger and disbelief that I felt in the early moments are hard to describe. It felt like an out of body experience.

The first few days during loss I was numb. Wavering between a dream like state to harsh reality that this was in fact real life. Waking up many dreamless nights in tears when the reality hit like a tone of bricks.

My dad is dead.  How can this be possible? 

Those four words are something that I never thought I’d have to utter this summer. My plan was to get serious about my business and have fun with my kids.

Instead I found myself planning a celebration of life and navigating the depths of grief. Feeling numb and cold from shock.

Never in a million years did I think I’d be the one sharing this tale about death.

We all know it’s part of our lives. Death and the pain that follows. It’s the price we pay to love so deeply. Yet we are able to push it aside and get swept away the mundane life tasks. How many times have I let myself get stressed out about tiny little things? Way too many to count .

Then suddenly out of nowhere you are hit by death. The excruciating pain that your mind cannot even process. My world stopped spinning. How am I supposed to learn to live in a world without someone I love so deeply? I still don’t have an answer for that.

I don’t think you can “move on” you just learn to live differently. What I have come to discover is my world view has shifted. I’m not getting out of here alive so why I am I shrinking myself to fit into a box that is way too small?

It’s not worth hiding anymore.

Up until July I was pretty removed loss and death. It had been 14yrs since my grandma passed. I thought that broke me, but after my Dad died I’m not so sure. Maybe the difference was it was so out of the blue?

No warning.

Death out of order feels unnatural. He was only 61, it just doesn’t seem right. I thought that about my grandma, she was only 68. Though the difference was we knew her death was coming. In that regard it allow space to say goodbye.

The early stages of grief felt very much like I was floating through life. Emotions crashing like a fall storm. There was a very apparent mist hanging over me. It was difficult to think clearly my thoughts jumbled and confused.

Everything seemed louder, brighter and overwhelming. Going to the grocery store still feels like an impossible task.

On top of all these emotions I still had to be mother and a wife. Honestly neither of which I am excelling at lately. Grief is a very selfish time and I find it so hard to be needed by someone else when all I want to do is curl up in bed in forget.

Though I have come to understand there’s no other way than to go THROUGH the emotions. Often times they hit hard and without warning. It could be a memory, a song, or the smell of the wind.

Then I’m gone…lost in the sea of tears trying to catch my breath. Desperately gripping to any memory that comes in. Fearing that they too will disappear.

In between all the heavy emotional energy moments of joy and clarity shine through. Small glimmers in the darkness where I’m able to be present and see the good in life. To have the ability to understand that maybe this was my dad’s journey. Even if I don’t like it, his soul had other plans.

Those are the times you need to be grateful. Don’t feel guilty for feeling joy and laughing. Grief is full of paradoxes, there is so much sadness but there’s also happiness.

I  so many new connections during the last couple months. People that I haven’t spoken to in years and new friends who came into my life.  For that I am thankful because the darkness will creep back in.

Sometimes you don’t think your heart can break anymore but then it does.

You find yourself standing in the parking lot of a funeral home holding a bag of ashes.

All that you have left of your dad and dog.

And you are shattered.

Somehow two lives fit neatly into a single canvas bag. It doesn’t seem natural.

I know I have memories but they feel fleeting and abstract. Right now I need something tangible, a physical part of them that I can hold onto.

The truth is I’m not ready to let go. It feels terrifying to loosen my grip because when I do life goes on. How can life go on when I’m not ready? I think that’s why the mornings are so hard. When you are in the state between dreaming and you don’t remember that your dad is dead.

All I can do is feel these emotions, let them release. Hopefully as time continues the waves will subside.

Grief is a very lonely journey to walk. No one processes a loss the same, even if it’s the same person. For me writing has saved me-it allows me to get all my thoughts out of me in a way that I could never verbalize.

I find it especially difficult to be met with silence by friends and family. I want so badly to express how much hurt I feel but I’m not sure that they are ready to be meet me in that dark place.

Death isn’t something that we feel comfortable talking about-it shatters you to loose someone you love. I do wish that I could talk about my dad without being met with crickets. I want to share his stories and keep him alive.  I want people to ask me about him even if it makes me cry.

I’m terrified he will be forgotten and in turn I’ll be left behind because I can’t let go.

Planning my dad’s service was the toughest parts. Being the oldest I felt like I needed to take on the role of the helper.  Somehow we managed to fit in 61 years into 45mins. Watching the honour guard give his hat the final statue was tough. It made it that much more final.

Up until last week there was always something to do or plan. Now there’s nothing. I’m left with trying to pull myself together and become the new person that I’m growing into.

Even  now looking at photo of my dad seems so bizarre. He was here and now you he’s gone. Yet the world keeps moving as if he was never here.

I keep expecting him to walk up my street or send me a goofy text message. The worst is when I see someone out in public and from far away they look just like him.

It feels like it’s been years since I last talked to him. Every moment is one second that you are further away from me.

The reality is it’s been 70 days since I last talked to my dad.

70 days since we said goodbye as both my parents headed off on vacation.

Sadly it was our last conversation. I wish that I could remember it better.

I wish that I could remember how he smelled or the sound of his voice. It’s amazing how fast those memories go when you aren’t around them.

For me it’s so important to create a space where people feel like they are supported. A place where they can be held in their darkest moments.

No judgment or fear.

In sharing my journey I hope that others will feel safe to reach out and talk to someone that can support and love them.

Below are some of the things I learned or helped me in the early moments of grief. 

1, Family is everything! Seriously spend time with them (provided they aren’t toxic). Record stories, take pictures, laugh together, tell them you love them.

2. Strangers are sometimes angels in disguise. We met so many amazing people who took care of us in our darkest moments.

3. Grief is sooo lonely. It so often feels like you are the only person who has walked this road.

4. Please please, keep texting me. Check in-even if I don’t respond. The silence is deafening.

5. If you want to help-be specific (things like gift certificates for food or flowers in month 2-3) I want help but I feel selfish asking. Plus my brain isn’t working at full capacity.

6.Sadness feels heavy but that’s okay. If you don’t know what to say-just say that. It is the most validating feeling to have others acknowledge how much it all fucking sucks.

7. If you have stories or photos of the person who passed-ask if you can share them! I love hearing them. Or write them down and give them as gift.

8. Crying is healing, so is yelling. Both happen in the most random inconvenient ways.

9. Loss forever changes you. I hope in my case for the better.

10. You wish the world would stop because your world has been completely shattered. Sadly that’s not how it works which has been a hard pill to swallow.

11. Rest, eat, and drink water. You may be tempted to drink alcohol to forget but you can’t forget. Anything you can do help your body heal is so helpful.

These are my thoughts and my journey. Grief is not a one size fits all. Everyone moves with it at their own pace. Often with a step forward and then 5 backwards.

For those that I hurt during your grief journey-I’m so sorry. I now understand how profound those words can be.

My goal with writing and sharing so openly is the need to shed light on grief. It’s not something that our culture likes to talk about. It can make us uncomfortable to see someone sitting in pain. We often want to fix or shy away from the emotion.

The reality is grief is part of life.  It’s individual and can be all consuming. Not a linear process or stages that you get over. Right now I see no end in sight.

For me one thing that helps is trusting that the universe has a bigger plan in play. I may not understand it at the moment but somehow I know it will come together.

In a way this summer taught me how to live.

One shaky breath at a time.