I’d really rather not reflect on what has been the worst year of my life. It’s been a year defined by grief after the death of my dad, and as it comes to a close, all I can say is good riddance, and all I can hope for is that 2025 will be less painful.
But as painful as this year has been, it’s taught me some invaluable lessons. Lessons that I quite honestly would rather not have had to learn, but lessons that I believe have changed the trajectory of my life.
Life goes on, but grief will insert itself
After the initial shock of losing my dad, after the funeral and after a much-needed period of bereavement, I had to eventually re-enter society. This was, at times, a clunky transition back into the world. If my 2024 was a book, it would be titled, “Oh, The Places You’ll Cry.” Because grief, in its unpredictable waves, has hit me far too many times out in public.
Sometimes it’s been when I’ve seen a man over the age of 62, seemingly unaware of how lucky he is, and how lucky his kids are that he’s still around. Sometimes it’s been when I’ve heard a song my dad used to like. And sometimes I’ve been triggered by nothing at all other than having a minute to think. The list of places where the grief has snuck up on me and left me in tears include the bank, the office, my kids’ school, two different doctor’s offices, the car wash, the same restaurant three times, at home on Zoom calls and in the hair salon.
At first I felt embarrassed by these moments of uncontrollable emotion. But I’m learning to not feel so ashamed when they happen, and in a weird way, I’m grateful to have a moment to sit with the emotion and understand how I feel, which is maybe too rare in normal day-to-day life.
Sadness harmonizes with other emotions
Most days, though, I don’t burst into tears in public. Most days I don’t even cry. Not because I’m not sad, but because I’ve grown used to the sadness, and begun to feel other emotions in tandem.
The sadness has become a constant hum that accompanies my every moment. But it’s not the only thing I feel anymore. Instead, I’ve learned, I can be sad but also laugh at a joke. I can be sad and also enjoy a sandwich. I can be sad and content.
There are still days when the sadness swallows me whole, and it’s the only thing I feel. But most days, it’s a companion emotion that, I think, will stay with me forever. I’ll always be at least a little bit sad.
Months ago when people would tell me the pain never really goes away, I was overwhelmed because how could anyone feel that terrible for their whole life? But now I understand that the pain becomes less consuming. Not less poignant, but easier to carry. All the analogies are true. It’s like carrying a boulder at first, then a rock, then a pebble you can put in your pocket.
My hope is that as time passes, the pain is a reminder of who my dad was, what he meant to me, and what he meant to everyone who knew him.
At the end of a life, only one thing matters
When Jacob Marley visits Ebenezer Scrooge in “A Christmas Carol” and tries to warn Scrooge of his fate should he continue living as he was, Scrooge reminds him, “But you were always a good man of business, Jacob,” to which Marley replies, “Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance and benevolence were all my business.”
As I talked with those who came to pay their respects at my dad’s funeral, and as I’ve talked with many of his friends since, not a single person has mentioned what my dad achieved. Or what he did for work. Or what kind of house he lived in. Or how he looked or what he drove or what kind of prestigious awards he won. Or any of the things that people generally think signify a life well-lived.
Instead, every visitor and every friend, to a person, expressed their appreciation for how my dad had treated them. How he had maintained their relationship. How he had gone out of his way, often, to make them feel seen and loved.
Mankind was his business. Charity, mercy, forbearance and benevolence were his business. And I hope if there’s anything I can learn from his passing, it’s that those should be my business, too.
I would not wish this year on anyone. But most people will have to live through a year like this at least once in their lives when they lose a loved one. And the thing that has most helped me navigate my grief is the experience of so many others who have lost someone before.
The thing about loving is that it makes losing harder. And that loss redefines us. I hope that it’s redefined me for the better, that the lessons learned from it are not lost to time, and that I can help others navigate their grief the way others have helped me.