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*I wrote this short piece in the immediate weeks following my Dad’s death. I’m sharing it here, with you all, because everything in this piece is still true. Sometimes I don’t hurt as bad as other times, but the hurt and pain is all still so very very true. And I’m stuck sometimes because I often feel more lost than I let on.*
I can’t or don’t want to do anything.
It comes in spurts and then I’m just overwhelmed.
I’m overwhelmed with the grief, the everyday, the normalcy of life, and the tasks that need completed. I’m sad. I’m really sad. I want to cry and scream and do nothing all at once. I know grief can be like this. I know what it’s like to grieve a sudden and unexpected death. I feel all of the things…anger, sadness, love, and peace. Sometimes I feel it all simultaneously, sometimes not.
My beautiful little boys depend on me for structure, explanations, understanding, and strength. I’m giving them all I have while somehow still doing what needs done. Yet, I struggle with the grief. I struggle with knowing I have a responsibility not only to my children, but to my own life, and further still to honoring my dad’s life and work and death all at once.
It’s hard. So so hard. It’s hard to breathe sometimes. It’s hard to think. It’s hard to even just be.
I want to run and hide, yet I want to stay and work through the pain. I want to do nothing, yet I know nothing will get done for my dad.
And always, no matter what, I go back to this simple sentence, “My dad is dead.”
And it hurts. It hurts to know. It hurts to understand. It hurts to be the one doing the things that need done. It just hurts. It all hurts. All the time.