A look for a lifetime

Grieving in words

This time last year, I was in Thailand. Dad was scheduled for a spinal surgery, and though he said I needn’t come, for a week I was by his bedside in the too-bright hospital room. Most of the time he slept, and I read. Occasionally he would wake up and join Mum and me in our television-athon. His favourite was a travel food show.

What I remember most vividly from that week wasn’t his words reassuring me, on the verge of this life-threatening operation, he had no more earthly worries. He would in fact change his mind several times, over the next year, on whether he was ready to leave for greener pastures.

What I remember, from those days by his bedside, was that look on his face. He was in what seemed absolute agony in the aftermath, and his expression was painful to watch. But I made myself look. Because I knew, once he was gone, I would regret turning away.

So that’s his face I remember. Twisted in pain. Jaw clenched. Exhaling.

Eventually Dad recovered, and we had many more months together. Meals shared, conversations had. But somehow, when I think of Dad, the first image that comes to mind is still that look on his face. That sharp intake of breath. That exhale.

A look for a lifetime.

Grieving in words

You see, I had all these newsletter ideas ready for when I needed them. But now that a newsletter is due, all I can think of is Dad, and writing about anything else feels dishonest.

He’s been gone six months, and my life has gone on, as every quote, book, person says it would. But recently, for a reason that’s not mine to share, my life has taken a turn straight back to Dad. Back to the hospital, machines beeping, patients in wheelchairs, wanting to look lest I regret turning away.

All that is to say, I am in no state of mind to write about any of the wonderful, thought-provoking topics I had lined up. So instead, I will share this poem I wrote.

It’s called: Life After Death.

I was asked to sum up
This year—five words or less
Easy, I said
It’s: Life After Death.

For years I waited
As you lay dying
And now that you’re gone
There’ll be no more crying.

For life continues
As busy as ever
And your dying wish—
Be happy forever.

And so I forge on
Living every moment
To savour this gift
Denied you in torment.

Thank you dear father
For gamely letting go
So this life after death
Can be mine to cherish.

Out for one of our coffees, May 2022.

What do you think?

Now is as good a time as any to announce: I’m writing a book (again!) I’ve shelved my mental health memoir and started one about Dad, since that’s all I appear capable of writing about just now.

Do you also grieve through words?

I highly recommend poetry. For reasons I’m sure many have studied, I have found poetry immensely healing. And I never “got” poetry before. Somehow, after Dad’s exit, poetry has been the only medium that effectively exorcises my grief.

Please hit “reply” or leave a comment to share your answer—I read every response and I’d love to hear from you. If you want, share this post with someone as permission to grieve loudly, publicly, unapologetically.

We’re on an every-other-week schedule for the time being, so I’ll see you in two weeks… In the meantime, stay thoughtful, and try not to miss me too much,

Val