Twenty-Four

It is anniversary day. Twenty-four years ago my dad died. Twenty-four seems such a big number. It is a maturing number. At twenty-four, I had a master’s degree and was starting a full-time job in a place that has become home. 

At twenty-four, I was starting to settle. I find that my grief is also mellowing at this age. 

The anniversary of my dad’s death used to lay me flat. When I was younger, I carried a family picture with me on this day. Mom and I would go to the cemetery and pour coffee on the grave. We’d cry together and hold each other up. And then we’d go about our days. But there was always a looming pressure surrounding this anniversary. The start of February brought it on. It reached its highest point on The Day, and by the seventeenth, the world was bright and new and good again. I could breathe again.

After my uncle died almost three years ago, when I reached the point of spiraling down and down and down, I told one of my coworkers that I wasn’t really doing so well. (That’s a bit of an understatement.) He knew, of course, and had probably seen it coming. He asked one of the most perceptive questions anyone asked me during that time: “Is this about your uncle or is it about your dad?” 

At the time, I didn’t even know. Yes, I was grieving Shaun, but much of my grief was tied up with regrieving dad’s death. All of it seemed to be a big knot that I couldn’t untangle. In many ways, it’s still not untangled. I miss my father terribly. I miss Shaun and wish he were here. Somehow, my grief for both of them will be forever connected.

As I settled into bed last night, knowing that today would be one of memories, I reflected on the change in this anniversary since Shaun died. It is no longer oppressive. I do not dread it the way I used to. In working through that grief for Shaun, something of the grief for dad worked itself out.  Grief does that: it changes on you when you least expect it. It changes you when you least expect it. And that brings to mind the concept of grace. My favorite definition of “grace” comes from Anne Lamott: “I know nothing of grace except that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.” 

Indeed. I am not where I was twenty-four years ago. I am not where I’ll be twenty-four years from now. But here, today, on this quiet Saturday morning, I am grateful to have the father I have.