My Journey Through Grief... sustaining my role as leader and mother while healing my broken soul

Sharing the letter I wrote to my Dad on the one year anniversary of his transition to heaven. The world does not stop when loss occurs. We are expected to grieve quickly, to not miss a beat at work, to keep our families on solid ground, and to get over it when those around us demand. This last year I balanced leadership and motherhood while navigating heartbreaking grief for the very first time. I was ill prepared. I was suddenly a participant in a game I had no understanding how to play. I felt alone. As I reflect on the last year, I believe we need to speak more openly about loss, at home and at work. We need to be unafraid to ask people how they are doing and be willing to actually listen. We must accept that grief is personal and often times, the simple expression of empathy and kindness will help those we lead survive their journey of loss. It doesn't matter who you worship as your God, or if you worship at all. That is a personal choice. What matters is how we support those around us and carry them through.

If you've suffered a loss, my heart hurts for you. But like I was told last year, the hurt will dull and the memories with become enriched. The best thing you can do is share, be open to new possibilities and accept that there is no end to grief. It is a journey without an end. One moment you are find and the next you feel as if you can't breathe. All the feelings and emotions are OK! It is your journey and your story. So slow down, walk through it, feel it, and don't give yourself self-imposed deadlines you struggle to meet. Just walk one step forward each day and celebrate that you have the strength and courage to endure. Emily

Hi Dad – It’s me, Emily,

Well… about this time a year ago you took your last breath here on earth. It was the end of a 16-day battle where you did everything you could to stay with us. I willed, I prayed, I begged you to make it, but God had different plans. He was ready for you to come home. What I didn’t know then is that God has written all our stories with a beginning and an end. When he created you, he knew the plans he had for you. He just forgot to share them with all of us. He knew when your time here on earth would end and there was nothing the doctors or your family could do to change that. Oh, Dad I promise I tried! Accepting that has been hard. I am a fixer and I get things done. For a long time, I believed I failed you. That I could have done more. Today, I accept that I never had the power to heal you, only to comfort you. It was always bigger than me, I just didn't know it at the time.

Letting go and trying to find peace in loss has been a journey. A journey Dad!!! Good and bad days - some filled with pain like I’ve never felt before. A realization that one of the people who stands between me and heaven has made their way home has ignited a sense of urgency in me. Not the “Emily sit down” typical energy I know you so loved :-)?" but urgency to make sure I am using the gifts and talents God gave to me to leave this world a better place. The hope in tomorrow lies in a lack of knowing when the next tomorrow will never come. That has taught me to live each day and to “stop sweating the small stuff” - especially at work. Perhaps one of the best gifts you gave me.

When you left it was a permanence I had never experienced before. I wanted to come to the dinner with you I was too tired and busy to attend. I wanted a second chance to skip that 10000th business trip that could have been a zoom to sit and watch Lone Star Law with you. I wanted to take you back to experience the Tattoo in Scotland and to visit the U.K., a place you loved. To help the girls decide on colleges, and see them graduate, get married and have a family of their own. I had dreams for us and our family and those left with you. But my hope returned when I realized you are still here. You have the best seat in the house and are seeing it all.

Your spirit surrounds us. Olivia sees it when a male duck leads her down the river, or they finish first by .05 seconds knowing grandpa sent a special blast of wind. It’s when Ellie calls because on the way to school she saw 2 cardinals and she had never seen them before. Always happening on days, she is nervous about a test, or worried about a public speaking event. It’s when I fly in the sky for work and feel you right there with me or when I am sitting at the passport office and hear a man in the cubicle next to me that sounds just like you. I make excuses to stay longer and listen because I feel you near me. It’s when mom feels like giving up, but you help her see that she can do this and that you want her to survive all the medical challenges and go take those trips you no longer can. It’s when I look up to the sky at night finding the star that was named after you and pray that you help fix a world that has lost its way. Your spirit is alive Dad. The goodness you did in this world lives on. America, our military, North Carolina, great food, loyalty, hard work, your grandkids, movies like “The American President”, Yellowstone, traveling abroad – we remember you. What you loved, what made you smile (what made you crazy!) and what mattered most. In all of it, you loved us and that is a gift I will treasure always.

Today is hard. But the journey of grief is a journey, not a project you begin knowing the day it will end. Grief is something everyone will experience, but no one has been prepared to withstand. We don’t have the skills or the training to get through this alone. Society gives us a single moment to mourn and then expects us to return as if no event occurred before. We have to do better, and we must share our stories and be open about the joy and pain of the journey. In honor of you, I am sharing some of what I’ve learned these last 365 days in hopes that it will bring comfort to others, when one day they need it most.

? If you do not feel, you will not heal. You must allow yourself to feel the pain of loss. Ignoring it, running from it, putting your head down and just moving on will allow the grief to return later. It will return in many ways, and most are not good – alcohol, drugs, lack of self-care and more. When I accepted that I needed to walk through this, when I finally let go and let God, I began to process the loss of you, and I began to heal.

? Keep talking and sharing. One of the most important things for me has been writing to you. Sharing your story, my feelings and to put it out there for all to see. Why? Because I can share your story, which I am proud of, while processing all those thoughts swirling in my head. Just like I made my IVF journey something I openly share, letting people know that loss is ugly, its painful, and some days you are just not ok is my way of letting people know they are "normal", how they feel is real and to give them the promise that they too will move through their grief, and they will survive.

? It’s ok to look for the signs. It’s OK to see you and to let people know. It does not make me or anyone else crazy, it brings comfort. It helps me remember you. It helps me know that I am not alone. It reminds me that there is something bigger and while I want to make the most of my time on earth, it gives me hope that I too will one day be called home and life will be perfect again.

? You cannot navigate grief alone. You must admit that you need help. Mom and I attended a grief group at church. At first, I didn’t want to go. I was mad. But a few weeks in, I realized that I was not alone. I also realized that grief is a personal journey. One does not know how their journey will be until they are on it. You never compare loss. I lost my dad, mom lost her husband, others lost a sister, Aunt, mom etc. I learned that each of those is a loss, period! No one loss is harder or better than another. Comparing levels of grief is a contest nobody will win. All loss is hard and allowing people the space to grieve in a way that is best for them is one of the greatest gifts you can give someone.

? Keep the traditions. I am away for work this morning, but Alec and the girls made your cheese and cinnamon toast and enjoyed it with mom. Going to Babe’s or the Final Four and talking about you brings comfort. Doing the things you did, planting a beautiful garden the way you did all bring comfort. Even the simplest things like always saying a favorite phrase of yours (Do your best) brings comfort. Representing some of your best qualities in my leadership and communication style helps me honor you.

Dad, I will never forget those last minutes with you. Mom and I in both ears speaking as fast as we could as that monitor ticked down before our eyes. I was helpless and broken but I witnessed something that perhaps was the first block of strength I needed to go on. When your last breath left your lungs, I felt something. A movement, a stoppage in time, a feeling of lightness. I looked at you and saw your spirit leave. I saw your soul leave. Seconds passed and as I looked at you, “you” were no longer there. What was there was the shell that God gave to you for use during your time on earth. Just a shell but who I knew as my dad had left. Charles Raymond Williams was no longer there. Dad, I know it, I believe it. As we were leaving the hospital that day and talking with the nurses, I ran back into your room. I had to check again, and as I looked at you, you were not there.

Dad, I believe you went to Heaven, and I believe that with everything I have. Those moments with mom, experiencing that event has sustained me this last year and given me strength dealing with the physical loss of you. Many will think I am crazy, challenge my views or refuse to think for a moment that what I saw is real. For me, it was as real as real can be. It reminded me that I am not in charge, that I have no control, and that I must trust in the Lord. While I miss you so much. I miss what we had as a family and I miss you with mom, I try hard to remember that you are home with Jesus and that together, you will protect our family and lead us to be the people we were made to be.

I love you, Dad. Keep sending mom strength and know that you live on in each of us – always and forever. Thank you for being my dad.

Love, Emily