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On the Death of my Father


So many of you probably followed me over here from Caring Bridge, which was a blog I created to share my dad's story of his final struggle with cancer.

But really, as we all know, that blog was never about my dad. It was about me. It was about my experience with staring death in the face.

And after a few months of listless wandering after his death, it's time to get back to processing grief. And you're welcome to share that journey with me. It won't be pretty. I don't try to put a positive spin on it. Grief is ugly, painful, terrifying, and dark. It doesn't go away, it just takes twists and turns throughout your life. 



So where are we at? When we last saw our heroes on Caring Bridge, it was Christmas Day. We have since followed our Lord from His birth to His death and resurrection. And let me tell you... that journey through the church year is completely different when it lines up with the first 5 months after your father, your spiritual head, support system, cheerleader, problem solver, and friend leaves your life forever. 

Epiphany, where we focus on Jesus as the light, seems like a myth when you have plunged into the terrifying darkness of depression. 

Lent, as we watch our Lord suffer and die, is confusing, when you're honestly pretty pissed. You drag yourself to the midweek lenten service (or maybe you can't bring yourself to do that), hear about how your Savior suffered for you, feel incredible guilt at the anger you're feeling, leave, wake up the next day, remember your dad is gone and the only one who could stop it didn't, and return to the anger. You then have a tough choice to make: do I go to church on Sunday? Do I have the energy to drag myself through this painful wrestling with the law and the gospel? Can I do it again? 

Then Good Friday hits. You watch your Lord die on the cross for you. Suddenly, everything is in perspective. My dad should be in hell. But he's not. I should be in hell. But I'm not. And I won't be. Because Jesus fixed it. He took on all my anger and killed it on the cross. 

Easter arrives. The most joyous day in the church year. And you actually feel some tangible joy. Tangible enough that you can almost hold on to it. 

But just as quickly as that joy and peace descends, it's ripped away in an instant. It's like someone turned out the lights in your heart. Your dad is still dead. His body is decaying 6 feet underground as we speak. Now you're just another month farther away from when you last saw him, and an indeterminate amount of time from when you will be reunited. Easter doesn't really fix the present. Instead, it fixes your eyes on a very distant future, a future you are powerless to bring about. 
Sadness consumes your life again. 

So you get a dog. And suddenly, things are a bit brighter around the house. You have a reason to get out of bed, and someone to cuddle with when you're feeling lonely
So meet Wylie! Our 9 year old BFF. 

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