Til' Death Do Us Part

My parents' wedding anniversary

Today March 1, is the anniversary of the day my parents got married on 1980 in Detroit.

Grief anniversaries appear on all different occasions, happy ones and sad ones, anticipated and unexpected.

We all have different rituals and remembrances we revisit to mark these memories, and they hold a different meaning and melancholy for us all, ever changing as time passes, as we grow and evolve, as we learn, and as we heal.

Though this anniversary is not one of my own - I was not born yet - an anniversary marking a connection between my parents, it is the anniversary of the day when our family was officially put into motion. I imagine the day of their wedding, when each step of the journey was solidified. Soon would arrive my brother, and soon me.

On this day, I listen to a song that touches my heart and sorrow deeply, and that I love and adore.

My daddy died when I was 7, and now I am 36. In my life, weeks and even months go by when friends and loved ones don’t mention him to me, as though he never existed, simply because they never physically met him and they never saw us standing together. I’m sure that I am not seen as my father’s daughter by most of my friends, because he exists as only a face in a photograph they don’t see very often. To me though, my Daddy is everything. He is my father. On my mind every day, half of who I am, a closest and dearest kindred spirit always alive in my heart. I think about him and talk with him effortlessly. So much of who I am is because of him - his existence and his non-existence.

As a griever, as a grief support coach and death educator, it is eye-opening and fascinating to have watched the scope of communication and practice within the topics of death and bereavement for the whole of my life. The spectrum of strange words I’ve received and the unwanted silences when words would have been lovely. We are not given guidance on how to manage and navigate, instead we are thrown into the dark ocean to survive as we go. We are not shown the ways to support each other. Instead, we are all trying our best without any tools, when working through something that is the hardest. This is precisely why I have studied and trained in this area as much as I have, and why it is so deeply important to me to help be a guide and example whenever and however I can. I open my eyes and listen, taking in the tears of the world around me. It is peaceful in its familiarity, and I find solace in comforting those who are held in their saddest moments. People suffering in the deepest well of grief are usually unaware of the immense bravery they will have to manifest. Within the beauty of sorrow and healing is the need for great courage, and this resiliency is something of a magic power to tap into. It doesn’t happen overnight, though. It is with great care and tenderness, with support and time, that it flows in quietly.

Today this post belongs to my mom and dad, to my brother and me, and I invite in any person whose spouse departed the world when their love was in bloom, and any person whose parent died when they had so much more to say and share.

Though I have not seen my dad’s face outside of dreams since I was a little girl, our communication is strong and strengthening with every year of my life. I hope this can serve to help you also to know in your heart that within the devastating heartache of grief, we can reimagine and rediscover our relationship with our dear loved ones, even when they have died. I am a shining example of this and will always be around to help you to discover this magic and beauty if you need a helping hand or listening ear to support you.

Happy Anniversary to my Mommy and Daddy.

Love you always.