GOOD GRIEF!
Living Through Seasons of Loss
Ecclesiastes 3:11, ‘He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.’ (NIV)
October 31st, 2022
THESE CHANGING SEASONS
Isaiah 55:8-9, ‘”For My thoughts about mercy are not your thoughts and My ways are different from yours. As high as the heavens are above the earth so My ways and My thoughts are higher than yours.’”
Dear Dad,
It has been the most beautiful Autumn here. I don’t know if I have ever seen one more breathtaking. You would have loved it. Like people decorate for Christmas, God decorated for fall. He splashed every autumn hue over all the trees; street after street lined with burgundy and russet maples, golden aspens, burning bushes and the last of the wild grasses hanging onto the final sun-kissed days. Once upon a time, you would have shot several rolls of film by now and I would have oohed and ahead over every one. I wish you could have been here to enjoy it. It’s been just a little over a year since you’ve been gone. A day seems like a thousand this past year, like trudging through a mud bog never really getting anywhere until you look back and you can see how far you’ve come. That’s what it’s been like for us these past many months. I don’t think in heaven time matters anymore. It sure does still down here.
So many things have happened this past year, Dad, and every time another milestone was reached—by Mom or us or your loved ones—the person I most wanted to share it with was you. The one person who needed to know, who should have been directing traffic, who had the final say, was no longer here to inquire of. So we made some floppy decisions at times, some last minute ones, some we beat to death like a dead rat, some we wrung out, pulling every last bit of discussion out of it, unraveling the decisions like a hem on a dress once you tug on the loose string. In the end, I doubt it had as much weight to it as we gave it, and in the long run, it’s been a blessing you didn’t have to dicker back and forth over things that matter very little at the end of the day. At the end of this life.
You would have cried when my house sold, and especially yours too, and when all of your and Mom’s belongings were dissected and parted out like a busted machine. The move to the new house, and the amount of time it took to get here would have been so overwhelming for you, and tragically, I don’t think you were up for it, Dad. There are so many things I would love to show you, like this golden season that is slipping through my fingers, so many things I’d like to ask you, like what would you want to see happen, so many things I’d love one more chance to do with you. But truth is, this world and the things in this life are so tarnished, especially now after you have nested in spun silver and tasted liquid gold, this place would be as shady and seedy and sketchy to you as it truly is when you look through the tiny fissures that make up this place.
I don’t know about the decisions we have made, if you would have approved, but I know with every one, we tried to honor you. You and I talked about so many things as the seasons of your life gradually faded, but I realized you can never be too prepared. There was so much we didn’t think of, Dad, and even just today, I wanted to pick up the phone and ask your advice, only to realize you wouldn’t be on the other end. I am reminded so often that it is a great gift to care for what was important to you, like Mom, like the legacy you left behind. It is a tremendous responsibility, one that we haven’t taken lightly, but sometimes the enormity of it and the gravity of it tethers my heart in a cave. This grief, well, I have at times tiptoed through it like I was frightened I might awaken it and cause it to weep louder. At times I have plunged through it, like falling from outer space crashing all the way to earth. I’ve never known such anguish and such peace simultaneously. To hurt over the loss of you in one beat of my heart but know God’s goodness to call you out of this tragedy called life in the very next beat is nothing short of oxymoronic.
You left so much goodness behind, Dad. In this life, you would never have believed all the wonderful things people remembered about you, all the poignant words they continue to share about their memories with you and of you. You left your mark on this world, for sure, that will likely not be forgotten any time soon. You left His mark, Dad, inscribed His grace on the lives of so many of us who didn’t know Him as deeply until after we had witnessed His work in you. You made Jesus attractive and following Him desirable, and to be in your presence was much like I imagine it will be to be in His someday, kind of like spending time with you was like spending time with God. I feel somedays like the closer I curl up to the Father, the closer I am curling up next to you. We say ridiculous things I realize about death, like we lost someone. But I didn’t lose you, Dad; I know right where you are. Right where you will always be, waiting for Mom, waiting for us.
You were such a unique person. I’m so very thankful I got to call you Dad. Even though this grief sometimes weighs me down, I know after having been with you, I will always carry myself more cautiously, like you did. My eyes will be wider open to the needs of people, like yours were; my heart more apt to look for brokenness to help mend, like you did; my life more gracious, like yours was.
The last couple of years, we were able to spend so much time together, I have been a little lost with what to do with myself. Perhaps that was the Lord’s plan all along so I could be available now to care for Mom, and thus, honor both my parents. These seasons, they come and go, stretch and fade one into another, and before we knew it, a month was gone and then a year, and looking back what I see, is the shadowy silhouette of a fine man with his hands raised to heaven, pointing the way home, to Jesus. I may not ever grasp this grief, the way it beats in my heart and burns in my throat, nor the way the memories sometimes pour out my eyes, but I do grab hold of the fact that I was privileged to be the daughter of a wonderful man and he showed me who God truly is. For that, I am eternally grateful. I love you, Dad. I’ll see you…hopefully soon.
Your daughter, Michi
Isaiah 55:10-11, ‘”As the snow and rain that fall from heaven do not return until they have accomplished their purpose, soaking the earth and causing it to sprout with new life, providing seed to sow and bread to eat, so also will be the Word that I speak; it does not return to Me unfilled. My Word performs My purpose and fulfills the mission I sent it out to accomplish.”’ (TPT)
