grief pt. 7

I’m writing because I need to feel close to my dad. As time goes on, I feel more distant.

I write because it seems to be the best way for me to be able to articulate all my thoughts and feelings. I internalize everything. And writing is how I get it out. That makes my writing raw and honest. It’s hard for me to ever speak on something that I haven’t yet written about. Somehow it just makes things make a little more sense.

I haven’t written in a few weeks and I can feel it. Since I last wrote, I went to conference in Greenville, SC where I won an award I wish I could tell my dad about. He would’ve been so proud. The first paper of my dissertation was accepted for publication, a milestone I was praying would happen in time at the hospital so he could know and feel how close I was to carrying on Dr. Parker. I moved to a new house where the first thing I hung was his bird stained glass because he would’ve loved standing in the kitchen, cooking and watching the birds in the backyard. I went to another conference in Philadelphia, the last part of my academic journey that he knew about. He would’ve loved to hear about my presentation and the art museum. He would’ve loved that I’ve continued the Spongebob theme of my presentations.

He would’ve been so proud of me. He would’ve smiled through each of those conversations, beaming with pride. He loved me so much. So much that I think it makes it hurt so much more now. God I miss him. I’m so thankful to know and to feel those truths so deeply, but boy does it make grieving hard.

It feels like everything moving forward, academically and personally, would be new to him. I’m surprised by how short of a time it has taken to feel like everything is moving forward and moving on.

This past week when I was in Philadelphia, I realized how exhausted I am, chronically. I’m usually the person thriving at a conference. Networking, talking to people, presenting, those are in my strengths column. But it was enlightening to feel my capacity be so limited. Because I’ve been attributing it to everything else going on, but I’m realizing my baseline, my normal right now, is just less. And that’s okay. But it’s so much less. And it’s because I’m constantly grieving and thinking about my dad. Constantly thinking of what he would be telling me in my life right now, what comments and questions he would have for my new publication, how excited he would be to read it, planning to come see my new house, talking about Cardinal baseball coming up, and so much more.

God, I miss my dad. And it feels like that’s all I have the capacity to do.