By Missy Fox Thompson
Eighty-two days ago I learned what true grief is. The type of grief that reaches into your lungs and snatches the breath that gives you life. The type of grief that makes you shiver as if you’re standing in the middle of an Oklahoma snow storm. The type of grief that leaves your voice raw and jagged from the screams that came from within you, when you received the call to “come quickly.”
Early on a bright Thursday morning, I lost my compass. I lost my best friend. My children lost their Poppie. I lost my sweet little Daddy. Grief came as swift as the winds that roll over the Oklahoma hay fields.
Walking into grief that we all knew would come, I was so unprepared for how it would be all-consuming. We knew Dad’s days were clicking away like the clock on the wall. Yet, we still hung to hope. Needing him to call me Baby just a few more times.
We are all born to die. When we have done all that God has set us to do, we leave. More often than not, it’s far before any of us are ready to let our loved ones go. We are all left behind to find a way to live in the hollowness that loss leaves us in.
People will tell you about the waves of grief. They will share their story of pain and loss, in hopes of forewarning you of what’s to come. You know, like when you are watching a scary movie and the dark foreboding music is whispering in the background. They mean well, and they are speaking the truth. In a way, they are trying to protect you. To keep some of the pain from reaching so deeply into you.
What I have found though is that the waves come whenever they choose. In the middle of joy it has snapped me in two like a brittle branch left on a burn pile. In the middle of sleep, it called me out into the drowning dark seas. I can see the shore and hear God’s whispers telling me to be still and he will carry me. To let the crushing grief make me stronger. To allow God to be my salve.
Moving through these last 1,968 hours, I have run the full range of emotions. I have ignored the rumbles that call to me and want to overtake my mind. I have sat on the floor of my closet and sobbed silently so I wouldn’t scare my precious boys. I have been so angry at God for breaking my heart. I baked all the good foods, made cookies for dinner, and replaced my peace with anger. I have had such joy at times knowing Dad is in heaven, that he is healed, and no longer sitting in a nursing home alone.
If I could say anything to you about what your grief will be, I would say this: You will be shaken to your core. You will be so sad, and finding joy will feel like you are betraying your loved one. I will also tell you this: Your people will come with cheesy casseroles and cakes that will be a balm to your soul. You will be loved deeply by those around you. Your home will be covered in cards and flowers. You probably won’t read the cards at first. Save them. There will be a day that you will be ready to read the word hugs that they write to you. We grieve because we know love and know what it is to be loved. We will never be the same. There will always be a part of your heart that will ache to hear the “Hi, Baby.” I will take the grief because I got to be Mark Fox’s daughter.
