I’ve been writing about my father’s passing for six years now. I am out of words, but am not lacking for thoughts or emotions. I once wrote about “emotional constipation”, the idea that the emotional complex of grief was so great that finding words to describe the pain of it was akin to having a mental bolus that could only be pushed out through much exertion. This is not that. The state I find myself in now is more like being empty, only that is not quite accurate. It’s like a once soaking sponge that has been squeezed. The majority of the water is gone, but it is still damp. That’s more accurate: a damp state of being. It’s like a lake that has been fished in so much that all that remains are the little creatures that escape nets and hooks. I’m teaming with thoughts and emotions, but I cannot quite grasp what they mean or what possible importance they can be.
The word “death” is still hard.
The word “suicide” is still hard.
The word “dad” is still hard.
The phrase “Dad committed suicide a week before my birthday” is STILL HARD.
These and a million other thoughts and emotions are still hard, but I do not know the significance of any of them. All I know are what I have gained by catching the big fish over the years. I once wrote that grief is a mineshaft that you fall into. As you wander around looking for the exit you find chunks of gold- little pieces of wisdom and insight born from traversing the dark. Grief now seems to have morphed into a vast reflecting pond. A pool teaming with life, though what kind and how much is currently unknown.
Perhaps in time my thoughts will grow, as the small fish in a pond without larger predators seemingly do. Perhaps as I grow older and encounter new experiences I will understand more clearly the current thoughts and feelings that flit around my head. Perhaps they will grow large enough to capture and measure. Perhaps I will write more about this then.
But perhaps I will not. Perhaps what develops will not be made for words, but for reflecting. Perhaps they are better suited for conversations, or to simply dwell on with others. Perhaps they are here to comfort me in the sunset of a hard memory. Love without words, peace beyond comprehension.
Greater Expectations 