Grief and Change

Grief is a tricky thing.  It ebbs and flows, at times seeping into spaces around ordinary things, surprising you by its presence in the mundane and the ordinary.  I’ve come to discover that I miss my father most when things change.  The birth of my daughter, a promotion at work, a new house – these are all things that I was never able to share with him, things that I know would have brought him joy and pride.  Initially I thought that visiting places where he had been would be hardest, places with memories attached, and yet I’ve found it’s the opposite.  Instead, I grieve for what I was never able to share.  I picture showing him our new house, how excited he would have been, how he would have poured over the long history of the neighborhood, delighting in the local shops and the architecture and the fact that we finally have a proper guest room.  Losing my father meant losing my most fervent and exuberant cheerleader, my favorite story teller, my fellow history buff.  It’s almost been a year since we lost him, which doesn’t seem possible.  It’s still startling to call home and realize I can’t talk to him, to look at Lily and know that she’ll never meet him.  I’m grateful that we were close enough that I can pretty accurately predict what he would say about most situations, but sometimes that’s the hardest part, because more and more the things I miss the most are his unbridled enthusiasm, his smile, his laugh…the things that were so uniquely him, that don’t lend themselves well to recreation.  I miss you dad.