MY DAD

Whitney Port2424 views

Wow. I cannot believe it has been 4 years since my Dad was here. I am not going to draw this out because my eyes are already swollen and red from crying 🙁 but I do want to take a moment in time to honor my dad and maybe even help some of you who are dealing with your own grief at the moment.

No matter what anyone says, grief never goes away. It’s not something we can push down for if we do, it will only come back to bite us. I can honestly say my grief has lessened- in that it does not enter into my life as often as it once did. Though when it hits me, it hits me like a ton of bricks, but it does not hit me as often. This, I hope, is promising.

I am blessed I have found a man who reminds me of my father and I am blessed I am about to have a child who will have some of my father in them. I am blessed I had such a wonderful father and I am blessed for the woman he molded me into. I am blessed for the life he gave me and blessed for the life he now has allowed me to have. Do I want him back every single day? Of course, but since that is impossible, I must count my blessings. There is no other choice.
Now here is a poem I found that sums up grief’s journey in my life. Perhaps it will do the same for you 🙂

How We Survive

© Mark Rickerby More By Mark Rickerby

Published on August 2008

If we are fortunate,
we are given a warning.

If not,
there is only the sudden horror,
the wrench of being torn apart;
of being reminded
that nothing is permanent,
not even the ones we love,
the ones our lives revolve around.

Life is a fragile affair.
We are all dancing
on the edge of a precipice,
a dizzying cliff so high
we can’t see the bottom.

One by one,
we lose those we love most
into the dark ravine.

So we must cherish them
without reservation.
Now.
Today.
This minute.
We will lose them
or they will lose us
someday.
This is certain.
There is no time for bickering.
And their loss
will leave a great pit in our hearts;
a pit we struggle to avoid
during the day
and fall into at night.

Some,
unable to accept this loss,
unable to determine
the worth of life without them,
jump into that black pit
spiritually or physically,
hoping to find them there.

And some survive
the shock,
the denial,
the horror,
the bargaining,
the barren, empty aching,
the unanswered prayers,
the sleepless nights
when their breath is crushed
under the weight of silence
and all that it means.

Somehow, some survive all that and,
like a flower opening after a storm,
they slowly begin to remember
the one they lost
in a different way…

The laughter,
the irrepressible spirit,
the generous heart,
the way their smile made them feel,
the encouragement they gave
even as their own dreams were dying.

And in time, they fill the pit
with other memories
the only memories that really matter.

We will still cry.
We will always cry.
But with loving reflection
more than hopeless longing.

And that is how we survive.
That is how the story should end.
That is how they would want it to be.

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