Yesterday was the 39th anniversary of my dad's death. I joked to friends, "congratulations to him, he made it!" But the truth is, I've made it. I've made it 39 years in this world without my dad. Over the years I've spent November 8th angry, sad, hateful, avoidant, inconsolable and alone. I've spent the day eating his favorite foods (gumbo and German chocolate cake) and wearing his too-tight-around-the-neck black turtleneck as "comfort" and I've also walked the streets of New York in a haze, sipping cheap wine from a water bottle.
But after all these years, yesterday I woke up feeling whole. Today, I feel the same. I don't feel abandoned or alone. I am not full of sorrow nor am I ignoring how much I miss him. After 39 years, at least for today, I can hold my wish to have had more time together in tandem with the fact that for nearly 4 decades, I've had a very wide berth to grow into the person I am today. His death, and the grief that followed it, is what has shaped me, alongside the loved ones who have cared for me in said grief.
For 39 years, my family members, friends, in-laws and strangers have poured into me, whether I could receive it in the moment or not. Every kind word, every encouraging smile, every hug has made an long lasting imprint. Honestly, the not so kind parts have made their mark, too. The former friend who told me I talked too much about my dead parents helped me learn that I want there to be enough space and enough support for more than my grief alone. I don't want to make someone else feel like their grief is too much. Grief, carried alone, IS too much.
I am feeling whole today not because grief went away or because I let it consume me. I am feeling whole today because I, and the sensitive people I'm in relationship with, have made room for the grief, room for the joy and everything in between.
May we have communal care for all.