Sunday, August 18, 2024
Sunday Reflection: 17 months
When my dad died in March of 2023, someone told me it gets better after 18 months. That might be true, but at 17 months I'm not so sure. It's still a painful thing, and strangely stilted: I'm only really able to remember the last two weeks of his life, after his heart attack and before his death, when he was in the hospital. There is something very cruel about that; there was such richness and life and joy in all the years before those two weeks, but I just don't seem able to summon them.
Young people are all potential and dreams, while those of us who are older (while still having potential and dreams) are enriched with memories; it is kind of the best thing we have. So to be kept from them somehow is like having a most precious thing hidden from me.
It strikes me, though, that maybe I have to work through those two weeks, that maybe I meant to unearth something in those memories that I have. Sometimes, we get that kind of challenge...
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I hate to be blunt but it never gets better. My mother died 23 years ago and I still feel it as keenly today as I did then. I think I'm just better at not falling into the abyss of grief over it as much now as I was then. Perhaps this is what you will feel too. All I've learned is that I have to just feel what I feel, when I feel it, and then carry on.
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