More so

Nov 23, 2012 | | 3 comments

Yesterday was Thanksgiving. Getting through the day was not as hard for me as I feared, (speaking only for myself). Maybe it was because I steeled myself for the “big day”… the first holiday… By “steeling myself”, I do not mean that I turned off my emotions. I mean that I prepared myself to accept whatever came, to fall apart or not. My default behavior is to try to make other people feel comfortable. I recognized this and decided I did not need to do this. I could let those around me deal with my emotions however they needed to. But the big emotional crash didn’t happen. To be sure, I thought of Kat often and I missed her terribly, but yesterday was not overwhelming for me.

Today, however, the grief feels particularly tender. I am not sure why. It has been two months since we walked her home and the date kind of sneaked up on me. I am sure the slower pace of the holiday weekend has played a part as well. For whatever reason, I am missing my baby girl. Sure, she was 26 years old, but she will always be my baby.

I have written before how this grieving process seems strange and unfamiliar. The unfamiliarity is mostly about how it comes when I least expect it. As time goes on, I am finding  a familiarity too. I have felt these feelings before.  Kat’s death is not my first loss. It is by far the most significant loss ever in my life. The feelings resulting from the loss of Kat are echos of much smaller, less significant losses. And why not, I am the same person I was. I did not change when Kat died so much as I became “more so”.  The little things feel bigger. The irritations are more irritating. The time flies by quicker. The joys are more precious.

Seeing the view from the end of Kat’s life made the important things so much sharper for me. I still get lost in the daily activities of life, but I don’t stay lost for as long. I recognize the BS more quickly; the “important” have to’s and ought to’s. I am reminded that life is short and precious. May that awareness be ever present.

Posted in: family, Kat

3 Responses

  1. Than you for sharing your experiences in your journey. Kathi and I thought of you yesterday. Holidays seem to be especially vulnerable times, yet, grief can also sneak up on one, when you least expect it..

  2. I can see a stubborn life process going on in this mournful meditation that you share: the hard cold blade of her death sharpens you, making you, and Jeanie and all of you, better. Sadder, sure, but better equipped, better prepared to grasp the deep meaning of this life and then communicate that revelation to us. I can almost see, behind your lenses of grief, Jim’s eyes narrowing in the painful bearing of that unwelcome truth. Yet you have no choice but to accept it, and trust that this newly-sharpened edge will slice off wedges of wisdom and blessing yet to come– for you, for the family, and also for us with whom you have shared.
    Keep walking, amazing Jim–oh you! who in times past hath played trombonish melody with thy feet–keep sojourning with the great Author and Finisher of our faith, until all your steps are stepped, and at our end we go on to make some great long-awaited leap beyond.
    We shall surely see clearly then why all this pain has mattered, and all the bucket list of our tears will prove to be drops of pure joy.

  3. Jim, Thanks for sharing about your ever present loss and about your ever present love for your beautiful daughter, Kat. Thanks for being more so of you.

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