On Grief & Fatherless Daughters

We don't talk enough about grief.

About it's heaviness, it's longevity, it's effect on our bodies and souls.

About how it impacts us even when we aren't aware of it fully, even when we aren't thinking of the person, it's there.

I think too often we see grief negatively and therefore don't want to speak of it.

It's too much, you have to move on, they wouldn't want to you to be sad. It's "ugly crying" not "honoring their life and impact with the beauty of your tears." It's a human experience we all have and share, but we don't share with each other. It's made to be felt privately, because the pain of your grief is too much for everyone else to bare witness to.

What a racket.

I remember the first time I read the book "The Body Keeps the Score" by Bessel Van Der Kolt. I was in college, studying Psychology, and we were assigned this book.

It's a dense read but one that truly changed my life. It made so much sense.

Trauma reshapes the brain's structure and function, especially the area that processes threats, emotions and memory. Traumatic memories also are stored very differently than normal memories making them more vivid, sensory and fragmented. Lastly, trauma is not just a psychological issued but also embodied. Trauma lives in the very fascia of our bodies and can show up in a multitude of ways- chronic pain, fatigue, gastrointestinal issues, you name it.

Too often, our society and culture tell us that losing someone is just something to get over. Healing means moving on.

In so many other cultures, grief looks wildly different. Many cultures have an annual ritual and festival honoring their ancestors and those who've already passed. They celebrate their lives, tell stories, gather with family, visit their graves and honor the cycle of life and death. This exists in Hindu culture, Buddhist culture and the one most commonly known by us with the Mexican culture.

One of my favorite traditions is that of sitting Shiva, a Jewish mourning tradition that is observed for seven days after the burial of a loved one. The bereaved family members gather to remember their loved one and receive visitors. The practice creates space to experience grief together and provide a communal setting for comfort and support. I have been lucky enough to visit with my Jewish friends while they sit Shiva and I say lucky because it is such a beautiful and holy time. The first time I went to someone's home during this time, I was blown away by how out in the open and honest the grief was. The home had black fabric over the mirrors, the family sat on low stools symbolizing the weight of grief, people openly cried and the family refrained from anything that would be considered joyous or entertaining. As a young person, it just felt so HONEST. So real and raw and beautiful.

Today marks 32 years since my dad died. Since my 6 year old self found him on the couch in his room, dead of a heart attack.

32 years being a fatherless daughter.

32 years wondering what it would have been like had he lived.

32 years feeling like a limb is missing from my body but having very little recollection and memory of it.

32 years of trying to sort through my true memories of him versus the stories I've been told.

32 years trying to make him proud without knowing enough about him to know what WOULD make him proud.

It's been 16 years wondering what he would've thought of my wife. What he would think of the life we've built together. 16 years wondering how he would've felt about having a gay daughter. 16 years of wanting to tell him about Sarah, about my love for her, about who she is.

It's been 8 years wondering what kind of grandfather he would've been to my daughters. What they would've loved about him. What he would've loved about them. Wondering what traits of theirs come from him.

Every year around this time (March 15-18) I get sad. I get sensitive. I go on high alert.

My body remembers how it felt, that day, that weekend, those final moments.

Even though I was young and don't have a ton of tangible memory, I remember the feeling.

My Papi was my foundation. It was his lap I sat in, his arms that carried me, his presence that calmed me. I remember feeling safe with him, seen with him, like he and I were kindred spirits.

When he died I literally didn't know where to go. Where to sit. My foundation was gone and I felt lost.

Grief will do that to you, no matter your age, no matter the number of years you had with them.

We need to do better as humans when we lose someone we love. We need to do better for our fellow humans when they lose someone they love. We need to create rituals and traditions that allow us to feel our grief in it's full form and to honor our need to continue to feel it for as long as is needed.

The sadness of losing someone we love never goes away, there's never a point where we are over it. It evolves, it changes, it shifts and becomes something new, but it is never fully gone.

If you've lost someone you love, know that I see you and that even when 32 years have passed, it's still OK to grieve them and what might've been.