Jun 3

Jun 3 21/52 - Grief and Faith

My dad passed away unexpectedly in 1987 at age 62, the day after our son William was born. It’s difficult for me to imagine at this end of the subsequent years that my mom was 56 at the time and to recreate what those times were like. The next 4-5 years were a struggle for her, albeit one she largely kept hidden from all of us.

I found some writing by my mom in her things and thought I would post some of her thoughts on the nature of grief.

——

Dec 1987 — the day my dad was buried

We all put off saying what's in our hearts until a day comes when we no longer can. Your father was no exception. I feel perhaps you can take comfort in these few thoughts.

Your father's life in many ways was a rather simple one; his love for his family was first and foremost. It took precedence over everything else. He accepted the day in, day out joys and disillusionments of fatherhood without perhaps patting you on the back or yelling and screaming a lot, but privately he worried that your decisions were the right ones. And he also privately swelled with pride at your accomplishments. I'm sure his friends and business associates know almost as much about you as I do. Individually and collectively, you were the light of his life. He loved you, took pride in you, and respected you.

Take heart in all the wonderful experiences we have had as a family -- at the many funny things he did and all the crazy, silly sayings he had. Fortunately -- and hopefully -- he did not share all of these with his friends.

Be good to each other and to the wonderful people you have chosen to share your lives with, and to the beautiful children you have brought into the world and the ones still to come. And now, I'm sure he would say from the comfort of his recliner in heaven to get on with your lives and families and love them as much as he loved you.

Jan 1988 — two months after my dad died

Looking back, I find it hard to believe that we went through Christmas laughing and enjoying ourselves only weeks after Joe died. My children did it for me and I did it for them, but in doing so it only prolonged going into the Grieving process. We pretended everything was the same as always.

My youngest child, in the middle of her senior college year, was adamant about staying home to “take care” of me. I had no choice but to put on a happy face when she was around to prove to her I could take care of myself, because I was just as adamant about her returning to finish school. Being forced to be pleasant helped at the time, but again simply postponed the inevitable.

One of my biggest fears is to become dependent on my children. They are wonderful people, and I am truly blessed. But they are entitled to their lives and to make their own decisions and mistakes just as I did and as I hope to continue to do.

Going to church every Sunday has been difficult for me. Tradition forced it upon me, but seeing all the couples together made me feel so alone. It was all I could do to not break down all together. it would have been easier not to go, but I could not have lived with myself if I had not.

I've often felt a sense of remorse about not being the proper widow. When Joe died and the wake was taking place, I was “Miss Hostess.” I didn’t really feel that way, but I greeted people and talked about how Joe had died and held my head up. Even at the Mass, I couldn't break down. I needed to be strong for my children. They were depending on me to be strong. I was depending on me to be strong!

But afterwards, I wondered if my actions could be construed as cold unfeeling. Certainly nothing could be further from the truth. Joe was my life -- how could I not mourn for him and for me? How foolish we were to keep a stiff upper lip. Small individual instances of gaiety now seem so absurd. We're all trying to help one another, and no one really knows how.

Dec 1991 — 4 years after my dad died

When I'm with my children, friends, and others I tend to make light of my down feelings. I feel there is no point in bringing them down. And what does it accomplish anyway?

I'm afraid of putting too much of myself into relationships. I have always felt an inferiority complex -- that I didn't have as much to offer as the next person and that what I did offer was perhaps insignificant

I'm fearful of getting too close to anyone -- look what happened to my best friend! Here was a person who lived and breathed for me and my children. He was a man who came from little, but amassed a legacy of friends and coworkers who admired his honesty and diligence, his humor, and his uniqueness.

I can't help but wonder what lies ahead. What can the Lord's plan be? Why take someone who never hurt anyone away from me? What is it I'm supposed to do? Surely there is some path I'm supposed to take but I have yet to find it or recognize it.

To make changes in what was seems disloyal. Everything we built together was so fine and so good. We had such a good life and I know things can never be the same again, but I keep hoping that they will be.

I find it increasingly more comfortable to stay at home and read and watch TV rather than to shop or take a walk. It scares me that I'm becoming too comfortable with being alone -- it doesn't depress me as perhaps it should, but I know that it cannot go on. The more complacent I get about changing things the harder it will become eventually to make change at all.

I look at possibly 10 to 15 or more years ahead and know that I must do something -- but what? It's so easy not to do anything! Haven't I done enough? Being a mother and a grandmother is not enough, there must be something more. But is it worth risking? Suppose I fail? I know I must find what God has in mind for me, but He better give a good signal, so I'll catch on.

I think the bottom line is that I'm afraid -- afraid to start something new. If it doesn't work out, then where will I be? if only I could get the courage to act on something -- but that would take get up and go, something I apparently lack now.

Life was so comfortable when Joe was alive, and the future looked bright despite some misgivings about his retirement. What would he do and what would I do? If only I could have it now, all those misgivings would go away. Hindsight is so wonderful -- always 20 to 20.

I don't want to live the rest of my life -- whether it's 2 days, 2 years or two decades -- only through my children. We've given them a good foundation and I will glory in their accomplishments -- but for their health and mine, there must be more.

I'm living in the present on a foundation of the past, but the future is still elusive. My decisions are based on, “What would Joe do?” Perhaps this points out a deficit on my part -- not thinking on my own -- but I'm not sure yet that I can rely on my own decisions.

I feel God has always been a primary part of my life. Certainly, a wonderful husband and six lively children would attest to that. Believing in a loving God helped me through my mother's passing and through the tortuous times of Vin’s illness. What a tragedy could have occurred if I didn't believe that God would show me the way through.

I believe God will show me the way through this current time if only I have the presence to recognize His help when He sends it. His help isn't always packaged with a bow, so therefore I recognize my ability at times not to see what's right before me. I don't understand what God has in mind for me but I hope when it arrives I'll know it.

God has shown his love for me by allowing Joe to pass on without too much pain. Surely a person of Joe's goodness should have passed on quickly and with little anguish. Up to now God has shown me a good life and hopefully he will show it to me again.

God -- give me the strength to change!

Five previous posts in the series…

20/52 - Growing up in the Depression