Grief in Stereo

I dreamed about my dad last night.

It was the second time I’ve dreamed about him. The first time - for lack of desire to describe the whole, awful thing - I wouldn’t classify as a dream but a nightmare that I’m sure was my mind’s way of processing my own sense of helplessness.

Last night’s dream, however, would normally be quickly forgotten in the routine of morning – just one of those mundane dreams that could easily be a memory of any given Tuesday. The only difference is that my dad happened to be in it.

Perhaps that’s why I cried when I woke up and when I was alone in my classroom and now as I write this. It was so natural for my dad to be part of my mundane, my everyday, so when I woke up and had to remember that’s not true – that it’s no longer my normal, I felt his absence, my loss, so acutely today.

Grief is funny that way. It reminds me of a stereo with broken speakers that cause the sound to fade in and out. Some days, the sound is distant, distant enough to allow me to focus on other things. It’s still in the background, playing its song, an unwelcomed soundtrack to life, but I can push it aside a little.

Some days, like today, the sound is full and robust and demands to be heard, demands an audience.

Gratitude in the midst of Grief

While I adjust to a new normal, I am going back to something familiar, and typing out my thoughts is what I know. As it happens, I have many thoughts on this whole process of saying good-bye without want or warning, (but I’ll save that for another time).

My thoughts today, in this moment, revolve around something else.

Each day that I grieve the loss of my dad, God has been gracious and merciful enough to temper that grief with a specific type of supernatural solace. Today, that balm is gratitude.

One of my kind friends just left my classroom. She came to offer love, comfort, and tangible help. To have one such friend is a blessing, but I have the absolute privilege of many such friends and family members. Even my students are part of this beautiful community I am blessed by.

I wanted to take a moment to thank everyone who reached out, everyone who hugged, everyone who has helped my brothers and me with logistics, and everyone who has lifted us up in prayer. Please know this: it is all felt.

Thank you for reaching out and understanding that a lack of a specific response does not mean you weren’t heard or weren’t helpful. I’ve read and reread so many posts and texts, and they have brought me so much comfort. Thank you.

I have also been profoundly reminded why God calls us to community. To have people I love weep with me when I wept and laugh with me when I laughed…well, it’s hard to put the value and impact of it all into words.

So...though this might not fully or eloquently express all I’m feeling, please know I am wonderfully overwhelmed with gratitude for you and your incredible support. I am overwhelmed by God’s mercy and grace and favor that has been present through all of this and through many of you.

Update: As I finished typing this, another kind friend came to check up on me. She offered a warm hug and open ear.