I haven’t written anything personal for a while, but what I have to say might be useful.

It’s been over two years since my Dad died. I’ve noticed that I’ve entered a new stage in the grieving process and I’m starting to recover. I think of grief more as a journey than a ‘process’; it’s a meandering and sometimes perilous path, with no short cut. I don’t think you can ‘move on’ from the death of a loved one. Moving on is applicable to the breakup of a relationship or the loss of a job. Death is something you learn to live with and, eventually, accept. As the jagged edges of grief become blunted, the sadness is replaced by happy memories. Even during those last days in hospital, I remember how he looked up at me, an oxygen mask strapped to his face and barely able to speak, with a look of pure love. In that moment he told me how much he loved me without saying a word.

For a while I felt that recovering from the loss was a betrayal. The heartache served as a reminder, insuring I could never forget. Paradoxically, thinking of him was painful, so I tried to avoid lingering in my memories of Dad. As the grief softens, I think of him more and I look back with affection and gratitude.

To anyone out there who’s suffering a bereavement, I send you my love. Don’t give up, it gets better. I promise.

 

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