A Letter to the Sons and Daughters Grieving a Parent

 

Dear sweet, sweet friend,

First off, you are not reading this by accident. The chances that you would come across this letter means that the Holy Spirit led you here. I'm so glad you're here.

Secondly, I am so sorry for your loss. If you have lost a parent, I understand. I empathize. I am opening my arms with tears in my eyes. I am bringing you in and holding you tight. Holding. Exhale. Then I squeeze you just a little bit tighter. We are here together in this letter. 

Thirdly, I am writing this letter in close proximity to the experience that I had as a child and adult. I am aware that not all experiences are like mine and if they are not, that's ok. I feel forever fortunate for my personal experience with my parents and I hope you have that in your life–even if it is not biological. 

When you lose a parent, I have recognized a few things that happen. The first being disbelief. I feel like this is in part to us seeing our parents as giant characters in a story. They are our heroes, the example of what we feel we should be as humans. They are the people we aspire to make proud, keep happy, show-off to. As children, we can't wait to show and tell our most exciting moments with our heroes and receive affirmation.

As preteens we often disconnect, finding our own style, voice, friends, and special hobbies or sports. We are too cool for our parents love because we don't want to be seen as the immature children that we once were–obviously because we are suddenly so mature. These are the years our parents instill discipline, have hard conversations and guide us as we test their backbones. 

If you make it through middle school unscathed and not grounded for life, you continue that relationship with your parents into high school. By this time your friends start to know your parents. Sleepovers are more prevalent, your front door and refrigerator become revolving and if you were like me the traveling for sports begins. You begin to realize your parents are your biggest cheerleaders. They are still not, "cool," but making them proud is a subconscious obsession. 

When you graduate, you begin to realize you are going to be released into the wild. No more laundry baskets of folded clothing, no more home-cooked meals, no more gas money, just you and the world. When you go to college you realize how much you need your parents. You look forward to coming home. You likely have at least one situation where your parents have to bail you out. You have to have a hard conversation with them about finances or grades as an adult and even though it comes with shame, they still tell you they love you. In those moments you grow or you don't. 

Then you bring home the person you plan to marry one day. The potential suitor is tested and asked about their motives. There may be more than one across your college years. When lucky enough, they are accepted and "the one" is confirmed. The big day is set and it becomes the pinnacle of your life. The picture above is of Dad and me during my wedding day first dance. This was one of those moments that I truly appreciated and loved my dad so deeply that I cried. A moment I didn't take for granted. A moment that I will relive in my mind forever. That night I also smoked a joint with my Dad in my mud-covered wedding dress. I had decided to go barefoot on the property we got married on. It was the one and only time we smoked together. It wasn't awkward, strange or forbidden, it was celebratory and perfect. 

As an adult when you have children, you watch your parents become very cool. They are the coolest to the tiny humans you create. What we imagined as children is relived but in a way that you cherish a thousand times more. Grandparents are way more important than you as a parent and will forever be the choice your children make if given one. 

Your parent was the best–the best they ever thought they could be. In retrospect, on days they weren't the best because they were aggravated, angry, short or frustrated, it only meant they were human. I understand that so much more now that I have children of my own.

They never wanted to leave us. Maybe they knew about heaven and weren't scared of death. Regardless, they never wanted you to be this sad. The type of sad that makes all other seemingly sad days a piece of cake. Nothing compares to the ultimate loss of your lifelong hero. Your parents are the only people who have known you your entire life and losing that is like losing a core pillar of your identity. 

It's ok to be sad. You'll be sad for a long time. From what I am understanding from others I've talked to, you'll carry a bit of sadness with you, forever. No one can ever tell you how long you should grieve. 

When you think you've caught your breath after losing that parent, about 6-8 weeks later, people around you forget–out of sight, out of mind. If you are ok, then it must be ok. We put on a strong face and try to acclimate to life post-parent loss. We manage but the management is a smokescreen. A ride in a car, a simple shower, a sunset, an old memory or song in the car can crack any management we've been placing on our heart. 

Once it has cracked, the emotional flood gates do one of two things. They are quickly closed back up and we return to a somewhat balanced state. The alternative is that the flood gates open. What I've found is there is nothing that can make this anguish consolable. You sob like a child missing their mommy or daddy in the realization that you will never get to hold them with the same sense of protection again. You will never be loved so deeply. You will never be so accepted for all your flaws. It is a full body physical pain.

For some of us, we cry out to God, angry. Why?! Why would you take something so precious? How am I supposed to do life without him/her? What we forget with parents is that we were never promised forever. It almost always shocks us that they are not invincible. 

For others, a parent's death is expected and a relief that they are no longer in pain. Watching them lose their dignity slowly is more painful than death itself. You are grateful that they are in heaven with no pain. This is not my experience but I've said out loud in my bargaining token of grief that I'd agree to take this unexpected pain to avoid watching my Dad lose his dignity. 

When I told my children their "Pappy" was in heaven, I told them he was given a huge office that overlooks the world. In his office was a massive dashboard that takes up half the room. On this dashboard are hundreds of buttons that Pappy uses to communicate with us. He can choose to send rainbows, rain, sunsets, animals, flowers and so much more–we just have to be looking for it. I told my 4-year-old son that I saw a lizard the other day climb right up next to me while I was drinking my coffee outside and he turned his little eye at me and just stared. (Imagine me squeezing one eye like "Popeye" as I explain). He exclaimed, "It was Pappy!" 

For my 6-year-old daughter, I had to be more sensitive to her needs. I explained to her that I am really sad right now and Nana and Aunt Em will hold me to lift me up. On other days, Nana is sad and we have to hold her to lift her up and sometime soon you are going to feel really sad. Any time, anywhere if you are ready to be sad, you let one of us know and we will be here to hold you and lift you up.

There is no wrong or right way to grieve. Sure there are unhealthy ways, but no one can tell you that it's wrong. In the depth of grief, all you want is to feel differently.

A few things that helped me:

• Writing (obviously)
• Leaning in. When I get sad, I try to feel that sadness by going deeper. I know, it sounds crazy. I would listen to the songs from Dad's service, listen to his voicemails and read his text. I would breakDOWN but after breaking I would get to put back the pieces in a cathartic way.
• Honestly, drama tv in small doses.
• Walks with my dog. 
• Talking about Pappy with my kids. 
• Helping my mom with the transitions of life–this one is tough, but I will always be her rock. It is my promise.
• Spending time with my inner circle of friends. Ya'll they are my lifeblood somedays. You know who you are fam 💙.
• Reading books, it's been a long time since I've done that. The current book is Blue Like Jazz. So good. 10/10 would recommend.
• Going to the gym.
• Going to church. Worship. Cry.
• Talking to all of you who have also lost your parent(s). It's incredible the support that I've been able to give and receive. 

Don't get it twisted, I feel better afterwards, but I cry during all of these activities. All of them. 

Grief is just like that. It is an underlying wavelength that you just operate on. 

I wanted to write you all to tell you, we are in this together. When you are on the floor, eyes swollen shut or in your car pulled over because you can't see–this little community is here. We are all suffering, deeply. What I have found gives me comfort, is Jesus. 

"So, will I ever heal enough to be okay?" Jesus says, yup. He will restore us. 

And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast. 

1 Peter 5:10

"I am hopeless. I just can't go on without them." Don't fret my love, there is hope.

Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. 

Romans 5:3-4

"Why is this happening to me?" You will see that someone else will need you and your experience of suffering to help them through their troubles.  

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.

2 Corinthians 1:3-4 

I don't accept the fact that my father is not here on Earth with me. I don't. I'm not there yet. God doesn't say I have to accept it. He says I need to trust His plan. I believe he has one.

I finally decided to pray yesterday which led me to write this blog in the first place. I will share this prayer with you:

"God, hi. I am broken. I know you understand my suffering. You say you will provide comfort. I am here needing comfort. I need guidance, direction. I need you to show me what I am supposed to do. I feel like my heart is a watermelon that has been dropped from a 5-story building. It's in pieces. I'm here to finally tell you that I am here to trust your plan. I'm ready for the next step. I am still angry, devastated and my family is, too. I know it will be beyond my understanding but I need you. I trust you like I would trust my father when he said, "Briana, everything's going to be alright." Please give this comfort to my sister and my mother. Let your spirit flow through in me and through me. Hold my hand and help me up. I love you. In your precious son's name, Amen."

Immediately after I said this prayer I almost leapt from the tear-soaked bed and grabbed my laptop from my office. I went straight to Google and looked up domain, inlightofanguish.com. It was available. I created the email, the blog and in 30 minutes, it was written. It was like my hands weren't my own. 

If you're here it's not by accident. You are destined for great things. Your parent loves you. Jesus loves you. I love you. 

Your sister in grief and in Christ, 

Bri