HAMPTON RENAISSANCE

What does healing from grief look like, I wonder?

​

I ask myself this because wounds of the heart caused by grief can look vastly
different. In June of 2022, I eulogized my father. I offered words that were as heartfelt as I
could manage standing before his casket, but they seem feeble to me when I reflect on
them now. I did my best, yet I was ill-equipped to express to family and close friends how
complicated the moment of his passing had been for me. Our relationship was a wound of
the heart. My father had substance addictions that plagued him in adulthood, and he
battled with them until he was hospitalized for the final time.

The hour he passed, standing next to him and gently stroking the top of his head, I
told him “I love you,” in a whisper and assured him it was alright to leave, because I
understood he needed to hear that. He had held on for days with vital organs that only
functioned by the aid of machines. It was time to let him slip away, like the head of a
dandelion that has its white, wispy seeds caught in a somewhat abrupt gust of wind, and
they rapidly glide into the air. All at once the dandelion departs and is not as it used to be.
That is how I like to remember the spirit of his transition—all at once and in the most
tranquil passing as possible.

Even though I sat with my father and said goodbye, his death still feels incredibly
tender and complicated. It all feels very complicated. The sadness, the memories, and the
words left unsaid make me wonder, am I healing? I pray that I am, and that what healing
looks like in the midst of waves of grief is holding on to hope, since hope is what remains in
his absence. It will get better.