Seven years ago today, my stepfather died.
I hesitate to post this blog. One moment I think this grief should be private. The next I feel like suppressing it is impossible.
Most of you never knew Dennis. You never got watch his fingers strum a guitar. You never got to listen to him sing silly songs in the car. You never went on walks with him deep in the woods.
I havent’ done those things for seven years. And this week, in moments of quiet, I found myself whispering three words over and over.
I miss him.
Those words seem to echo in my footsteps. I drum them on the table during meetings. Repeat them as I doze off to sleep each night.
People often tell me that it will get easier. I maintain that each year the grief is different. But I would never call this pain easy.
Some years it throbs.
Some years it stabs.
But it’s always there. I will always miss him.
In the days that followed Dennis’ death, I received an email from someone who barely knew me. His email was sentence, a line from a song that he had written.
The aching may remain, but the breaking will not.
Such truth in those words. Such freedom in allowing myself to grieve. To remember the good times. To search for the joy.
But not feeling guilty for the ache. Not asking myself “hasn’t it been long enough?”
Today, I ache. Today I feel fragile.
But today, I will not break.
Wow, Brandy. This is a very powerful post. Thanks for being so transparent.
Honey I remember all the same things, I was just telling someone the other day about how all of us use to sing silly songs in the car. If we stop missing Dennis thats when we definitely have a problem. I don”t ever won’t ever want to forget.
Beautiful. Thank you for sharing.