Riding the Wave of Grief

Last week I was driving home from some errands and started thinking about my dad. I don't even remember what prompted me to think of him, but I caught myself smiling.

I started to reflect on how far the wave of grief has taken me since his passing on May 11, 2021.

I vividly remember the morning of May 11, 2021. John and I were on our way to Florida, as my dad went into hospice the day before and we knew it wouldn't be long before he passed away. My Mom called me while we were in the airport and told me that hospice had called her and told her to come right away. In hindsight, her telling me this was likely her way of preparing me from the inevitable. We boarded our flight, and I cried off and on during the two-hour journey. 

As the flight landed and started taxiing toward the gate, I turned on my phone. Almost instantaneously, it rang. It was my mom telling me that my dad had passed away. 

At that moment, I remember a distinct feeling of time stopping- but just for me. Passengers on the plane were chatting and looking out the windows. They were carrying on with their lives. Performing normal acts of "being." I thought to myself- how can they do this? Don't they know that a great man is no longer on this Earth? I kept looking around expecting everything and everyone to stop, pause, and acknowledge this unimaginable loss, but it didn't happen. It seemed like I was somewhere between being underwater and having an out of body experience. 

That feeling was SO deep. And it lasted for a day or so. It was so strange. I've never experienced anything like it.

Now, almost two years later, I can look around and see people going about their business and living life and not be resentful or angry. I'm still angry it happened to him. I'm still sad. I still miss him. But I can now smile when I think of him and if you know him, you'd know that's what he'd want me to do. 

Also, I don't want to be the jinx, but I think it's the Bruins' year and I really wish he was here to see it.