I greatly despise colds. They are just so irritating. I don't have a cold now, but just thinking about it makes me cringe. The worst part is the not-being-able-to-breathe-through-my-nose part. I hate that part. Particularly when the congestion is so bad you have to leave your mouth open just to breathe. And there's always some point in the cold's duration - usually around day 5 or 6 - when I just can't remember what it was like to breathe normally. It feels like I've always been congested, and I think, what was it like to just breathe in and breathe out through my nose, and enjoy that feeling? I take it for granted, the being able to breathe easy part, and then when I'm all stuffed up, I long for it.
That's how I feel now. I can't remember what it was like to breathe normally. I long for a normal piece of life. I took for granted the days when the world was all as it should be, when I could breathe. And now it's very difficult for me to remember those days. But I want them back. I want them to come back for me, and for my family. I want the sun to shine down on us, and for us all to breathe normally again.
Grief is complex. Some days it can be okay, and other days it can be consuming. Every day there is something - a song, a picture, a book, a story - something that reminds me of my Dad, of the loss, of the pain that doesn't quite go away. Grief is unforgiving - it can show up in the library or church or driving down the street. It is also irritating, showing up in places that I don't want it to, like in meeting someone new or in talking with a neighbor. Grief can also be invisible, because so many people don't know what to say or how to say it or if they should bring it up, and so they remain silent and it becomes the awkward, proverbial elephant in the room. Grief ebbs and flows, some days I think that I'm breathing just fine, and other days I'm gasping for air, feeling like I'll never breathe normally again.
I'm no wiser now than before my Dad was diagnosed with cancer, or even before he died. I'm just different, I'm changed. I look at things differently. I think about things differently. Some days I struggle. Some days are better than others. Maybe it will always be this way. I know that the majority of people will not lose a parent at my age, because the vast majority of people will live longer than my Dad did. My experience is fairly common, but in some ways not common at all. But if I could pass along something, if I could say one thing, one little piece of advice for those of you reading who haven't lost someone, it would be this: Embrace the relationship you have now with your loved ones. Don't get caught up in silly things that irritate you, or petty arguments, or selfish visions of who that person should be. The relationship is not all about you - pleasing you, making you happy, doing what is comfortable for you. I believe God blesses us with earthly relationships to encourage us, inspire us, challenge us, love us, and ultimately, to reflect Christ's love. How often do we reflect Christ's love in our relationships? Everyone of us will stumble, we aren't perfect, so forgive. Overlook the faults, love deeply, enjoy the time together. Because I guarantee, if you suddenly (or even not so suddenly) lost that person, none of the silly little things that seem to matter now would matter at all. Even a little. You would go over conversations in your head, wishing you had said something different or acted more selflessly or not been so caught up in your own life that you missed out on that wonderful person right in front of you.
2007 has been a tough year. I pray that God would bless our family in 2008 and that we would love each other selflessly, reflect Christ more, and show our love. Not that we haven't done these things, but I think we could all use more of it, and I am acutely aware of this after having experienced such a loss. I pray that 2008 is VERY different than 2007, in almost every way. A tough, tough year in many aspects.
But God knows. He understands. I was reading in Job, where he says "Remember, O God, that my life is but a breath; my eyes will never see happiness again." Job knew that feeling, that feeling of not being able to breathe normally again. And if you've read Job, you know that God defintely had more in store for Job than he knew. I cling to this promise, too.
I've found myself lately wishing that there had been more time. More time to spend with my Dad, talk with him, listen to him, laugh with him. Hear his stories, even if I'd already heard them 20 times before. Hear his famous jokes that I've heard all my life, just to laugh at them again. And mostly, wishing that I could just hear from him again, wishing I would have asked him to write down some thoughts before it was too late. And then, as I was scrapbooking tonight, I was going back in my blog to get some journaling, and I came across the first entry when my Dad was diagnosed with cancer. And I clicked on the comments, and found this:
As I sit here and read over your blog and the responses of so many wonderful friends I am overcome with emotion. Megan, you are and have been a wonderful daughter that I cherish and thank God that you are in the battle with me. I thank all of your friends who are out there praying for us and look forward to personally thanking them when this battle is over. Thanks so much for this past week, you have been an inspiration. I love you, Dad
As I read these words, I couldn't help but thank God for reminding me of them. It was exactly what I needed to hear. And I couldn't help but think that Dad will still get his chance to personally thank all of you. Quite a while from now in terms of earthly time, but probably the blink of an eye for him. Yes, his battle is over. And now he is my inspiration.