Today marks six years since I received that dreaded phone call that my dad was killed in an early morning accident. Nothing prepares you for that type of call. There are no adequate classes, books, or speeches that prepares your heart to say a final goodbye to a loved one. There’s absolutely nothing that teaches your mind the etiquette of not replaying memories of that loved one at your most vulnerable of moments.
It’s the smallest instances and minute occurrences that trigger a flood of memories. It’s the way someone glances your way or a chuckle from a passing stranger. It’s that familiar scent from an often visited restaurant or a joke that made you laugh until you cried. Your mind is not kind. At the drop of a hat you’ll cry before you even realize it. You’ll choke back tears and blink away the sting in your eyes to maintain a somewhat calm composure in public. Yet, sometimes, those memories are not enough.
My dad always asked me if I was going to have children. I never told him about our infertility struggles. I simply would say, “Of course, dad!” To which he would reply, “Don’t wait too long.” Two years after his passing I would welcome my first child. Memories of him wanting to be with his grandkids were not enough. I needed him present, at that moment, sharing in the joy we felt. Now I have a second child that will miss opportunities with grandpa. A picture and stories just won’t do.
There will always be those times when we just want to sit and talk with that loved one. We want their opinions, guidance, wisdom. We just want to know they are a phone call away. Maybe just down the hall. Wherever and whenever, we just want to keep having access to them. I have. Yet, the mind is cruel. It plays back those memories everyone say are happy, but they only feel bittersweet. The mind remembers the last conversation, but also the not so good conversations. Maybe an argument or disagreement. Even so, the heart still wants that loved one back.
The best explanation for grief I’ve heard is expressed in this quote:
“The bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.”
—Anne Lamott
So we do learn to dance and limp along life’s winding roads. Yet, there are still times when memories are just not enough. Saying, “I miss you!” to the wind is inadequate. The heart just wants them back earth-side, reunited just a little bit longer; making memories again without considering that one day we’ll have to say a final goodbye. Then, memories just won’t do.