Joyful Grieving

"I always thought you were the strongest person to ever exist."

"Evidently, that is not the case."

"I would laugh, but I just can't seem to. I really don't remember the last time I did, to tell you the truth."

"Neither can I."

"Okay, that was funny."

"Glad I could help."

"You think I'll ever laugh at someone else's jokes?"

"I hope so. I hope you do everything you did before I left."

"I don't know that I want to. It feels like half of me has vanished with you."

"That half is there. You just have to call for her."

"Trust me, it goes straight to voicemail."

"So, keep calling."

"I guess, but usually, I am just hoping that I'll hear your voice on the other end. It's a disappointing cycle."

"Yeah. It's hard to keep reaching out to the silence."

"It really is. And the funny thing is, I think she is screaming in there to get out. She is telling me 'get over it' and 'he would be so disappointed'."

"Oh, well they are lying about that. I was never disappointed."

"Not even when I scratched that car in the parking lot and just left. No note or anything?"

"Well...actually I didn't know about that one."

"Take it to your grave, would ya?"

"Already on it."

"You’re my hero.”

“I tried.”

“I know you did, but you know something? I am so glad you weren’t.”

“That I wasn’t what?”

“A hero. You were so much better.”

“What is better?”

“You were human. So human through and through. When I learned that was all you were, it was eye opening.”

“Now, that sounds disappointing.”

“Not even a little bit. I always looked up to you and that’s beautiful when you’re a child, but when you outgrow the pedestal and can see someone eye to eye…it’s just so much better. I related to you. And you to me, I think.”

“I did. Sometimes. You are so one of a kind, sometimes I was the one that thought you were otherworldly.”

“Nope. Just human. You and me, the same and yet, so different.”

“I was afraid I let you down.”

“The crazy thing is, whenever I felt like you had, I realized that I had set myself up most of the time. Or I set you up to fail, you know? But when I realized you were human, so much bitterness just faded into the light of realization of who you were.”

“I never really got that epiphany with my own parents, so I am glad that I could be at least that for you.”

“I think that should be the real motto of humanity.”

“Which part?”

“The ‘at least’ part. Everyone wants to be ‘at least’ something. A margin of the bigger picture, but even margins take up space and that should be enough.”

“And the rest of the page?”

“Is for you to write in. I don’t think of life as just one book, it’s volumes and volumes of different versions of yourself. All the same title, just different translations.”

“What’s the current title for you?”

“I’ve been calling the current novel, ‘Joyful Grieving’, for obvious reasons.”

“Seems complicated.”

“Not really. There are those stages of grief, but then there is just the grief. People seem to forget that the stages come and they go and then, there is just grief. Not necessarily anger or acceptance or denial. It just sits there. It sits at the table for dinner dates and it drives with you to work. It is there for everything. It sort of becomes a best friend.”

“A real downer of a best friend!”

“Or a real pick me up! Really. Because, sometimes you can think, this would have been better with the person I lost or you can decide to keep loving it because they would have, too. You can grieve and love. Sometimes, grieving even makes more room for love. Nothing truly opens a person up like grief, because do you know the best symptom of grief?”

“What’s that?”

“Empathy.”

“So, the sad thing makes you understand sad more.”

“Yeah! I think so. Pain is good for healing.”

“Pain is good for healing…I like that, I think.”

“Cause and effect…sorry. I am rambling.”

“You think the rambling is the weirdest part about this conversation?”

“What is the weirdest part, then?!”

“Well, you are having a one-sided conversation with a gravestone.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“I suppose you can blame me, but that doesn’t seem very empathetic.”

“Oh, you are hilarious.”

“I appreciate the compliment.”

“Well, technically, I am hilarious…being a one-sided conversation and all that.”

“I shouldn’t have brought in technicalities, my mistake.”

“I’ll add letting it go as part of my grief journey. No worries.”

“Wow. You did get more empathetic.”

“…”

“…”

“Hey…do you ever think about crawling out of there and coming back home?”

“Everyday, but I think it would have defeated the whole purpose of this.”

“Purpose? What purpose?”

“The one where you realized that I was not the strongest person you ever knew. That you are the strongest person you have ever known. Pain is great for healing, but healing is great for getting stronger. I always knew that when you showed your greatest strength, I wouldn’t be there to see it. I couldn’t be.”

“…”

“You will be more than okay. You will be everything you were before all of this and more. You will grow again, maybe in a different direction, but you will stand tall and by this conversation alone, you are already halfway there.”

“I just thought…maybe I could have figured it out with you. The truth is, all of this wising up is great, but it doesn’t make me forget how much I miss you, dad.”

“That half of you that you think was buried with me, she isn’t screaming to get out. She is just adjusting. I was never the hero in our story, it was always you, my dear. It was always you.”

“…”

“…”

“You still there dad?”

“…”

“I miss you. I love you. And hey…thanks for the cape.”