Today is Father's day. A day that took on a whole new potency a few short years ago and now is among a host of gradually developing routines as one of the few days of the year that I have designated for grief. The day grew into a bit of a weekend this year, as explained in the last post… but such is life eh?
I spent most of the day with a good friend of mine and his young son. We ran a few errands, talked a lot, and visited the grave of my Dad. While we were on top of the hill chuckling about the little one's attempts to eat the decorative rocks and his dismay when his own father prevented that exploration. We spoke of Dad's impact on his life and mine and we talked about the oddity of us visiting a little niche in a wall where the dusty remains of Dad sit. And I had a bit of clarity there as I explained why I visit the site… and why such things are important to me.
We talked about how when Dad first passed it shook my entire world. How the stories and the struggles all seemed to center around that loss. How it prevented my return to work for a period, and how I have my carefully curated triggers that bring the loss flooding back. How I can't remember crying much before Dad died, I can almost cry on command now… (and to be honest I'm a better person because of it) But in this context I also talked about how the grave is significant because I cannot live with that grief all the time.
Even when it was fresh the ache and the tears always led to a sense of numbness that wrapped the world in a shade of gray and the fuzzy silence that reminds me of floating in a pool with your ears submerged. I grew capable of feeling the loss, for a moment at a time, and then for more… I stopped hoping that Dad would be standing there every time I walked around the corner in mum and his house. I began to be ok with little rememberances like wearing a coat of his that mom gave me… His birthday came and went and I almost forgot this last year. And that is all to the good.
I think we need graveyards because they allow us a place to take all of that hurt, and loss and pain, and lock it away for the days when it is appropriate to dwell there. Days like today… where I had the honor of seeing the complete normalcy of a Dad holding his screaming kid and speaking calmly to him that he loved him, and that once the little guy was calm he'd be allowed to play within the boundaries he had been given. A day where I couldn't have stopped the tears if I wanted to; and I certainly didn't want to. Because there is a season for everything under heaven, and for today, for me, it is a day for mourning.
And if you are reading this with a sense of slightly confused sympathy, I'm happy for you. I really am. And I hope that pleasant naivete lasts as long as it can. But someday you'll know the truth of this whole process in a way that I would not wish on anyone. But in that day, when the light seems a little dimmer and the noise of creation is a little bit quieter, take the time to grieve. Because even the Lord of the universe wept at the grave of his friend.
Most importantly today was also a day to walk away from that grave, to get back into the car and to move on. Because I don't live on that hill, and no one does except memories and dust. And that is a wonderful thing too. Because my Redeemer lives, and in my Heavenly Father's house are many rooms… and somewhere up there an ever increasing group of men and women that I love are living a life that I cannot even begin to imagine. But for today I must walk the path appointed for me, in the manner that they taught me to. And that too is a powerful thing. And one that includes, but is not limited to, a hillside in South Dakota.
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