Thanks

It's been about 6 months since my Dad died. I still hurt a lot. I'm sometimes surprised by how painful it can still be and I have dear friends who remind me that it really hasn't been that long and to give myself a break.

I'm not sure why I feel like I should be feeling better somehow by now, but sometimes I do. I sometimes feel an unspoken pressure to be done grieving, feel less depressed, be more consistently jovial. I've even had someone get upset and suggest to me that I wasn't grieving the right way, that I wasn't reaching out to others?? That one caught me way off guard and felt cruel in timing and in scope. I've since considered (with the help of a friend) that maybe, when some people feel frustrated that they can't fix something themselves, they take it personally and don't know what to do so sometimes it comes out funny. Could be, I suppose. And I can appreciate how that might be difficult for some. And most days I'm okay. But some days I'm not. And sometimes that simply feels somehow disrespectful and too soon. Mixed messages, I know. I'm confused, too. How is "confusion" not one of the stages of grief--there's denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Where's confusion?

I have two nightmares from when I was a kid that stand out in my mind. In one, a big monster that looked like the Incredible Hulk (except he was orange instead of green) came to my bedroom window and in a deep, scary, growly voice said, "Stacy, go to the kitchen and get a plate so I can hit you on the head with it." I had that bizarre dream at least two times. I always screamed, my Dad would come, he'd walk me back to his side of the bed, I'd climb in next to my mom and my Dad would tuck me in and then sleep in my bed. I love to analyze dreams but I'm stumped on that one.

There is one other childhood nightmare that I remember. In it, my Dad died. I woke up feeling sick and crying. I specifically remember hugging my Daddy tightly in our hallway the next morning--he'd stooped down to hug me at my level. I remember hugging him tightly, not wanting to let go, and from that point forward fearing losing him. He reassured me that everything was okay, that he wasn't going anywhere, that it was just a dream, and that he loves me--"I love you, Bibi." That dream stayed with me from that point on. And I was always frightened.

I'm going to be pretty frank and I know that by doing so, I open myself up to massive judgment from others. Please don't judge me. This is raw honesty. I don't do so well with this grieving stuff, so please just see my heart and not what I "should" or "shouldn't" be feeling. It simply is.

I tire of platitudes. I hear people say, "But we know this or that" and "We are so blessed with a knowledge of the afterlife" and I still feel pretty empty. That's all good and fine and sure, it's really comforting to believe that, but I still miss him now. I can't see him, can't talk to him, can't get a hug from him now. Someday will be nice, yes. But that doesn't take the hurt away. I think some people think it should, but it doesn't. And when I hear see other people smile and say, "Aren't we so blessed to know what we know?" I squirm and quietly struggle inside with doubting myself and my feelings because that doesn't take the pain away. And it isn't a lack of faith. It's grief. Knowledge in your head doesn't always translate to comfort in your heart. And there are some things that I'd rather not go into here that have shaken me. This doesn't make me a bad person. It makes me human.

I don't know why we so often jump to lectures and criticism of others. Are we that insecure? Does it make us feel better? When I think about Christ, I picture someone who simply holds someone who is hurting. No lecture, no judgment, just love. I've come to understand Him as a merciful, loving God, not a harsh, critical one. Yet so often, in the name of "Christianity," we think we know so much and so we quietly (or out loud) judge others, preach to others, think quietly to ourselves, "Well, if she'd just do this or that, she'd be doing better." I know because I used to be more like that. So, what I'm trying to say is please don't judge me for that. Please allow me the struggle without criticism or judgment. It is what it is. And it's hard.

I'm having a hard time today and I miss him and the hurt hurts. I'm sitting here crying as I write this and not even sure where the tears are coming from. I didn't think I had it in me. I think that writing is therapeutic for me. It's a release. I'm hurting.

But that's merely the background to this post. What I want to say, as the title suggests, is "thanks." I won't mention names. I hope you know who you are.

Thanks. Thanks to those who took the time to send me a card or package in the mail.

Thanks to those who, not knowing what to say, said something anyway. Even if it was, "I don't know what to say."

Thanks to those who, without judgment, hear my cries and understand my heart.

Thanks to those who have cried with me.

Thanks to those who hugged me when I've cried.

Thanks to those who sent an email to let me know they're thinking about me.

Thanks to those who are in tune enough to sense when those things are especially appreciated, even weeks and months after my Dad's passing.

Thanks to those who not knowing how to help, simply said as much to let me know they're thinking of me.

Thanks to those who simply did something anyway in whatever way made sense to them.

Thanks to those who quietly hurt for me but didn't quite know what to do--it's okay.

Thanks to those who, not understanding, still reserve judgment.

Thanks to those who have posted comments on our blog--those little things mean a lot.

Thanks to those who have prayed for us. We've felt it.

Thanks to those who, after umpteen posts about this topic and not having any idea what more to say, say something anyway. And give me permission to grieve.

Thanks to those who, months later, know that I might still be hurting and don't judge.

Thanks to those who remind me that it hasn't been that long and that I'm doing fine.

Thanks to those who allow me the occasional rough day without expectations or disappointment.

Thanks to those who take me out to dinner, an appetizer, ice cream, whatever, and help me laugh and relax.

Thanks to those who hang out in the backyard and simply are friends.

Thanks to those who are always, always there for me and love me for who I am.

I wrote this a couple of months ago and it has been sitting as a draft--it applies today (just change the "4" to a "6") . . .

It's been about 4 months since my Dad died and I'm simply amazed at what dear friends we have. It's remarkable to see the contrast of friends who are consistently there for you and those who choose to not be a part. I am really grateful for friends who have been so keen to my feelings and who, even months after the fact, continue to care and ask how I'm doing and talk to me about my feelings on things without expectations and generally get together and, well, be good friends! I can tell by the hugs, the emails, the calls, the outings, the conversations, that they're in tune to my thoughts and feelings and are so kind to look out for me and all of us.

So, thank you, dear friends, for helping me through one of the most difficult things I've ever gone through. I can literally feel the strength of your prayers, thoughts, and kindness flowing from your good hearts to bless me and my family.

Over the past several months, I've had emotional hurts and have also been dealing with some personal, physical hurts as well (nothing major, but still troublesome). Remarkably, various conclusions have been drawn by some because of this. It's been more of a nuisance than anything else, but still an unnecessary and hurtful pain on top of everything else. So another thank you goes to those who keep in touch with us, those who are our friends, those who ask us and don't make assumptions or jump to false conclusions or buy into everything they hear. Thank you to those who haven't distanced themselves by walking "on the other side" in judgment and have instead been "Good Samaritans." Thank you for your love and mercy and compassion.

And thank you to my dear husband and kids, who sensing that I'm a little "off" today are upstairs doing school together so I can journal and work to make sense of my thoughts and feelings. You are the best!