I did a lot of things today. I attended the Nairobi North Presbytery meeting, I went to a baby shower/banquet for an elder's granddaughter, and some other things too. I learned a lot while attending those things, but the most important thing I did today was grieve. Today is the "anti-versary" of my father's death. It happened unexpectedly when I was only nineteen for reasons that I still don't understand. Supposedly three years have passed by but I still feel like I'm floating through space. So today, I don't have a blog post about my Kenyan adventure for you, just some ramblings from my broken heart. In the interest of sharing all aspects of this journey, I thought it was appropriate to share my thoughts and feelings - even if they aren't in any way cohesive. The loss I experienced on this day triggered a series of losses for me: the loss of my parent, the loss of the future I had been dreaming of for a long time, being abandoned by a community that was supposed to love me.... the losses keep coming and my heart keeps breaking. May 19th reminds me of all of these things. I tend to be very emotional on the big days like this one and I was hoping to hold it together, but that's not what happened. Today required periodic breaks from my intern duties to sob quietly in my room or the washrooms. I spoke on the phone to Mom, Nanny, Van, Kaylyn, and Macy (aka all my favorite humans), but today was still painfully lonely. I'm still in counseling. I'm still grieving. I'm still learning how to navigate my life without him. I'm still struggling in ways I can't even begin to articulate. Today I miss my dad. I miss him everyday, but especially today. None of my words seem to fully capture how I feel in the way I want them to. All I know, is that he was the best person I've ever known and my life has not been the same without him. In the words of the next best dad I have, "all of us are one of a kind but some of us stand out a little more than others. This guy was one of those. I'm just glad I knew him more than most." Me too, Uncle Mark. Me too. ~ much love from a very emotional Nell in Nairobi
In the interest of being articulate, here’s a reflection I wrote in the first “anti-versary” of my daddy’s death:
A year ago today was the worst day of my life. No other experience I’ve ever had compares to that horrible day and hopefully nothing in my future will come close. Thanks to family, close friends, campus ministers, counseling, and the unconditional love of the Lord, I have miraculously survived this horrible year. While there were a few highlights like my mission trip to Cuba or family vacation to the Florida Keys, most of my days were spent in the overwhelming darkness of grief. That day changed me. My childhood was taken away the day that Daddy died. I was forced to grow up and as a result, my entire perspective has been transformed. I consider every moment of my life leading up to that day to be innocent bliss. Until then, I did not know the harsh reality of tragedy or grief. Sure, I had experienced my fair share of hardships, losses, and sadness but nothing compared. In the beginning I let everyone else come first. I watched my family members and acknowledged their grief. Some were numb, some were angry, and some were constantly in tears. I noticed their grief but did not accept my own reality. I suffered watching my family grieve, I let newspaper articles corrupt my memories, and I chose to ignore my personal wellbeing instead of taking care of myself and dealing with my grief. None of these actions helped me heal. Once the initial shock of loosing him had worn off, the day to day grieving proved gruesome. The joy of sharing my every day triumphs with him was gone because every time I pulled out my phone to call him, I remembered that he couldn’t pick up. Financial struggles, cars that are falling apart, the search for summer jobs, and planning my future have been increasingly difficult to manage without his advice, love, and support. I’ve spent a lot of my time grieving for the moments I will not have. Occasions like my college graduation, my wedding, and the day my children are born will be less sweet. He won’t tell me he is proud of me when I walk across the stage and accept my diploma. He won’t walk me down the isle or dance with me at my wedding reception. He will never corrupt my children’s brains with Uncle Shelby’s ABZ Book or take them swimming at the lake. No amount of love or support will make up for what will be missing on those days. Accepting these things has been the hardest for me. Many people consider the one year mark to be the point in which we move on with our lives. That is not true for me because my grief does not end here. Grief is ongoing. Each day the burden gets lighter but it will never go away. I will never stop missing him and I will never stop loving him. I will be grieving for the rest of my life. Grief is horrible. Grief is overwhelming. Grief is hard. Grief is something I would never wish on anyone. Grief changes you. Grief is the price we pay for love. Grief is the way we honor the loss of those we loved. Grief is how we heal. On this day, I cherish the sweet memories of the man who has always been my role model. I wish he was still here to get us through the bad days and celebrate our triumphs but he isn’t. A year ago today is the day he went from being, to being a story. His story did not end a year ago. It lives on in the lives of those he touched. What we learned from his words and actions influence how we live our lives, at least they do for me. While he may not be here to create any more stories, we are. Therefore, life goes on and the good work continues. After all, it wasn’t his work he was doing. We must carry on because we are still here. If we weren’t meant to be here, we would be gone too. Today is May 19. Today is sad. Today is a benchmark. Today is another day on the calendar. Today we remember his story. Today his legacy lives on. Today we celebrate the life of an amazing father, husband, friend, caregiver, and servant. Today we heal.