Dad in my Heart
My chiropractor is simply wonderful. She’s thoughtful and smart. She’s the woman who fixed my neck within seconds of our first meeting, after I endured two years of migraines and trying out all sorts of experts who couldn’t do it. I will always be grateful. Like me, she lost her Dad recently, so she knows how it feels.
When I saw her last Friday and she asked how I was doing with regard to my Dad, I thought I had it figured out.
“Well, Saturday is his birthday, and that also marks a month since he died. And then there’s Father’s Day. I figure it will get a little easier after we get past those firsts.”
“No it won’t”, she said firmly, which surprised me. I thought I had a plan. Get through a couple of major milestones and then it will start to get better. “I lost my Mom nine years ago and I’ll tell you, Mother’s Day isn’t any easier. It’s all anybody talks about for weeks and maybe I cry a little less each year, but it’s still hard.”
Huh. Well then. So much for best laid grief plans. Truth and directness are my preferred methods of communication so I respected her candor.
Truly though, there’s no way to tell how hard or how easy it will be. It’s different for everyone. I’ll cry when I want to cry and try to bring myself back to being grateful for having a Dad at all. And I’ll return to the wisdom of Francis Weller and his book The Wild Edge of Sorrow: the relationship isn’t over, it’s just different now. I can call up my Dad anytime I want to, in my memory and where he now resides, in my heart.