Observations Along the Road of Grief
It is harder than ever to apply words to where I am on my journey now 11 months down the road of grief. It has become in some ways like one of those illusions where it appears to be a bunch of random dots until you look at it the right way and a drawing pops out at you. Grief disguises itself mostly in other aspects of my personality. Most people who are around me don’t see through the illusion.
There are many days now I can get up, go to work, and get well into my day before “Daniel” pops into my brain. This is good, I think. However, though not a conscious thing, the weight of losing my son is still like ever present gravity. It’s a light gravity, lets say the moon, but it is pulling me down from where I would be otherwise. Always.
I also find myself much less patient with pettiness. As a father who lost a son to suicide told me early on, “You will have a lot less tolerance for bulls*** now”. That much is certain.
Much of Daniel’s friend group is graduating college this spring. I am happy for them, but melancholy in my own mind. That seems to be the new cutting edge of my grief now — the “missing future”. He would be on track to graduate a semester late this December since he transferred to UGA. What future path would he have taken after graduation? Would he have been able to see a great final Bulldog football season as a senior? Would he have a serious girlfriend? I even wonder what he would have thought about keeping Matt Ryan and Julio Jones on the Falcons roster. The missing future is what hurts the most now.
However, I have recently seen two or three glimpses into a future for myself that I anticipate like a 6 year old waits for Christmas. For a brief second each time, a memory of Daniel flashed across my mind and I smiled. But before I could barely register that emotion, the sadness of loss swamped it out. As another member of the fathers of suicide (World’s Worst Club) has told me, there will be a time you can think about your son and be happy. That was hard to believe then, but now I have seen that it will be possible. Next month, next year, beyond that? I don’t know. Grief doesn’t ask you for input on its timetable.
The one year anniversaries of his tragic act and then weeks later of his death are barreling down the road and will be here very soon in April. For whatever reason I am dreading these dates more so than the holidays from this past winter. This is also as we all visit the one year mark of our shared COVID hell, and now life looks like it is soon to be back to more normal. There is no doubt the pandemic was a significant part of Daniel’s awful decision, but we will never now how much. Back to normal will be good, but it carries a bitter taste.
Spring is hinting away, and brings the same beautiful weather we enjoy in my beloved South in April. Easter will be here soon. Life, and promises of a new life. I will walk some more steps down the road of grief, hopefully with the sun on my back.