Grief. That never goes.

My Dad died 10 years ago in September.  So what is that? Like 9.75 years ago.  In the back of my head I am planning a post that will capture who he was, what grief is like, and will honor him as a man.

Except I have been blogging enough to know that is unlikely. Every time one of my children has a birthday I think that I will write a magical blog post that will capture the fullness of who they are, what parenthood is, and will imagine their future in a liberative and honoring way.   That never works.  So instead of saving up all of my feelings for September 19th I should just share as they come forth.

Today, I posted this photo on facebook.  I had put it on my phone saving it for TBT (I love TBT) but everyone else in the universe was posting graduation photos. So I got inspired.

There is my lovely Mom, my proud graduating Magna Cum Laude self, and my Dad.  Who knew 4 months later he would be literally on his death bead?

Today, we went to church and right now our church dynamics are wierd.  Our parish is getting a new priest, the only thing people ever talk to us about at church is my job (never never never Sean's job and of course it isn't universally true it is just true for a couple of people but it is wierd), and if there are a  couple of people who shame us for not being there every week.  Seriously the dynamics are weird.  So after church the girls were melting down, Sean and I were melting down, and so then scurrying off  to work I took a moment of alone time and posted this photo.

Why? I don't know.

Except that there is something so grounding about this picture for me.  This photo is about what is fleeting.  This photo is some reminder that we only get now.  That Even IF church is weird, and kids are screaming we cannot know if this is all we get.  We cannot know where we will be in 4 months.

From the pit of my stomach I miss my Dad. And right next to that pit of despair that is never ever going to be filled is another pit that is filled with life.  For me that pit is partnership and creativity-that I am invited to live. That  is a life that honors that loss by taking the almost invisible wisdom in the pit and saying, "fuck it. I am going to be alive."


  1. Your grief has given me freedom in mine and for that (and many other things), I am fully and forever grateful. Do share more of your dad as it comes to you.


  2. I love you, Rachel. So so much.


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