“Grief has no time limit”

My father fulfilled his wedding vows to my mother by loving, cherishing, and providing for her until death parted them in 1987 when cancer claimed her life. Their wedding anniversary was July 2nd.A few years later, Dad remarried, and he kept the same vows until his death parted them a little over three months ago. Their anniversary is also in July. The entire experience of saying farewell to Dad has been surreal. My initial response was intensely emotional, followed by extended periods of deep reflection. When Mum died, it took years to release the emotion, so I’m hoping to avoid that awful situation. Perhaps, since I’m aware of it, I’ll be able to express my emotions instead of bottling them.

Now, that first paragraph was a Facebook post in early July 2021, and some very thoughtful friends posted the following responses (I’ll use just partial names to protect the innocent/guilty):

Mr. O wrote: Bill, I don’t think we ever get over it. We live with lots of great memories and we look to the future when we will be together for eternity. That’s what helps us get through it.

MD posted: “Always here to talk if you need to and to pray for you.” That was very similar to what DR said: “We never shyed away from uncomfortable or deep conversations. If you ever need to talk I will make myself available to you.”

PR, an acquaintance, said: Grief has no time limit. Take care of yourself, God knows the turmoil of our grief times.

A friend for almost my entire life, RM, added this: “It must be very difficult to re-experience the intense feelings of loss and grief at certain times. Praying for you as you reflect and process. Take good care and be gracious/patient/kind to yourself- like you are with others.” Not too long ago, RM and I spoke on the phone for almost an hour. We’d been schoolmates for many years a long time ago, and though our lives have gone in different directions, our families have somehow staying in touch over the decades. RM and I have done some similar work in our vocations, so I appreciate what was written here. Kind, as always, and generous of thought.

Lastly, two friends from town that have known their own griefs and trials–some of which I’ve known about, too. K shared his thoughts, and J added hers: “In my experience grief comes in waves. Some days I’m completely fine, paddling on calm seas. Other days I’m tossed about in my dingy in the worst seas I can imagine. Take it as it comes, bottling up emotion is poison to the soul. Allow yourself to put the emotion away for a time if you need to, but remember that even though you put it away you still need to deal with it, so give yourself time for that as well. Wishing you nothing but the best always ”

“It is waves, just like K said, some days I feel stronger than others, then I might feel like I can’t swim against the waves of it coming in. Most of the time I have no idea what the next day or even the next hour will bring, but the agonizing pain has subsided, I know and believe she is still around me, because of that I can survive. I took H to a movie tonight, simple right? Not so much, it brought back waves of the last time I was there my mom sitting next to me. I’m sending you tons of prayers and love.”

As I’ve been reflecting on these and other comments made to my post, my wife and I made our plans for our day tomorrow. We’ve just driven home today from a week out of town, and we have a birthday party open house to attend tomorrow afternoon for my eldest nephew, who turned 40 this week. I told her I’m willing to go alone if she doesn’t feel like it, having been in the car for six hours today. And without thinking, I almost added, “And then I’ll swing over and see Dad afterward. I haven’t seen him in awhile. I want to find out how he’s doing, and tell him about our trip.” I bit my tongue, my heart in my throat, and tears in my eyes. It’s not the first time I’ve thought of “swinging by to see Dad” the last three months, and it won’t be the last. PR is right. Grief has no time limit.