• 5,260,320 Minutes
• 87,672 Hours
• 3,653 Days
• 120 Months
• 10 Years
• 1 Decade

That’s a fair amount of time.  So many wonderful things have happened and continue to happen in my life, and there is so much to still look forward to.  Since losing A on that early morning in April ten years ago, I have grieved and I have healed.  There have been graduations, weddings, births, and deaths.  My children have grown, expanded their circles, and are living productive and happy lives.  I fell in love and got remarried. And most recently, my first grandchild was born.

Yet, in some ways, it isn’t any time at all.   There is still an empty space his presence once filled.  There are days – moments – when a random phrase, a smell, familiar lyrics, nearly anything can bring a memory (or a deluge of them) flooding back.  There are days when I am feeling on top of the world, invincible, and then one tiny thought can bring it all crashing down until I suddenly find myself feeling guilty for not still being constantly heartbroken like I was in the beginning.  As if not being down all the time is something to be ashamed of… as if it means I didn’t care.

The logical side of me knows that isn’t really true, and most of the time, I can easily (or at least within a reasonable amount of time) talk myself around again.  But I would be lying if I didn’t admit to days when self-talk doesn’t cut it.  There are still days where I find reasons to cry just because I need to purge it all.  Poor S simply has to duck and cover on days like those.  They aren’t pretty but they’re pretty hard on him.  I’m grateful he loves me enough to let me get through it.

There are many things I’ve discovered since A died.  One lesson I have learned well over the past decade, is that there is no expiration date on grief.  My father will have been gone 30 years come January and my memories of him can occasionally be as fresh as they were in the beginning.  They may have softened to mostly bittersweet through the years, but the ache to talk to my Daddy one more time is definitely real.  

He would have loved his new great-children – my first grandchild is one of five born in the past few years in my family – just as he loved all of his own grandchildren.  My dad never met my son, who was born almost two years after he passed.  The parallel between that and A not having the opportunity to meet the individual who is – in part – named after him doesn’t escape me.

My kids and I often talk about what A would have done or said in a situation, and we laugh about how he could sometimes be a pain.  My oldest recently called him “an a-hole” when I realized a full four weeks after her son was born that the individual numbers of his birthdate, when added together, equaled 22.  I had groaned that it would have been too easy to notice had he been born on 2/22, and A just had to make us work for it.

We all believe A still makes himself known to us, at different times, in numerous ways, and at varying frequencies, almost always when we need to hear from him most.  Because even though he could be “an a-hole” at times, he was there when he was needed, and I think he’s reminding us that hasn’t really changed.

There is a popular quote that essentially says grief is the cost of having cared for someone.  It is the yin and yang of love; two sides of the same coin.  And often how I feel when one of those random memories surfaces can seem like the flip of a coin as to whether it causes a smile or tears. Thankfully, these days, the reminders are more kind than cruel.  At least most of the time.

Bottom line, over the past ten years, I have come to know that grief is complicated, it is a personal journey, it isn’t linear, and it forever remains a part of someone.  Just as A will forever remain a part of us until we meet again.

Peace & Love,

Cheri G

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