the waiting is the hardest part

Everyone always says the first year after a death is the hardest.  You think, last Christmas we had such a great time in the new house.  And, this is his first birthday that he's not here.  And, last year on June 9th he hadn't even started feeling sick yet.  It's rough.  

But no one ever tells you how hard the first month is, or how you'll think things like, "On May 9th he was still alive."  Or how you feel that first week.  "I talked to him on the phone a week ago."  Or the first day when you're just wandering around in a fog, wondering what on earth could have happened. 

Nothing can prepare you for way you feel.  Even weeks later you'll be feeling fine and the next moment you'll be crying at work, hoping no one sees you and asks to help.  No on tells you that you won't want to do anything for fear that you'll always associate that thing with your father's death.  Will I forever think about dad when someone mentions Hawaii because I was on my way home when I found out?  

And even though I firmly believe in the plan of salvation and everything that it entails, all the Sunday School lessons in the world didn't prepared me for feeling sad.  I just miss my dad.  I want to talk to him about how the Indians are doing this year.  And how my job is going.  And the Werewolf and Legolas and Lady MacBeth.  I just want to sit and fall asleep on the couch while he watches whatever golf tournament is currently on tv.  

I wasn't ready for how emotional I would be all the time.  I can start crying at the drop of a hat and for no apparent reason - when I'm not even talking about dad.  I wonder how people can treat me normally as if nothing has happened, but I get angry when people treat me differently too.  I'm almost constantly thinking of dad and how I feel because he's gone.  

When we were talking to people at the funeral, a few people who had also lost their parents told us, "it never gets easier."  At first I thought this was a not very helpful thing to say.  But the more I think about it, the more I think it is perhaps the most helpful thing after all.  Everyone wants to say something to us, but hardly anyone knows what to say.  People who have never lost anyone close have no idea how hard it is.  You don't just grieve a week or two and then get over it.  It's a long lasting hole in your gut that can't be filled.  But people who have lost someone, well, that's a different story.  And, "It never gets easier" doesn't mean that everyday for the rest of my life I'm going to feel this overwhelming sadness.  It doesn't get easier, but I suspect it gets different.  

In this life there is a time for mourning, but there is also a time for rejoicing.  And sometimes these times are actually the same times.  I will always feel sad that dad isn't around, but I will always feel joy for the man that he is and the things he taught me.  I can be happy with the things happening in my life, but still be sad that dad is seeing them from the other side and not here making his subtly funning remarks about them.  That's how it never gets easier - the missing of the person you love.  But it gets different because I can know that my dad loves me and will be with me, even if I can't talk to him.  And I can miss him and still have peace that things will work out.  Just because I'm sad doesn't mean that my testimony of Jesus Christ has lessoned.  In fact, it has grown.  I know things will work out, even if they aren't how I would have planned them myself.  

I'll always miss my dad.  And while I'm waiting for things to get different, I'm glad for the people around me who understand, or at least try to, and who let me grieve in my own way.  

So, so long, Bruce.  I'm sure I'll see you again sooner than I could realize.  Love you!