My dad has been gone for over a year. The grief has gotten better, as I had been told it would. Coping with the loss and functioning on a day-to-day basis has improved significantly, and I think progress will continue.
However, at times, the slightest comment, memory, or scent will blindside me as if he passed away yesterday. It’s an explosion. I immediately transform from an (almost) normal person going about my normal day to a total inconsolable mess. It just happened a few minutes ago. It was simply just a nice, quick comment my mom wrote in an email about how much my dad had missed and worried about me when I moved out of state. That’s it. That’s all it takes.
I now realize that those triggers—those minuscule, fleeting triggers—continue to produce gigantic waves of emotion, and I believe that they always will. The grief runs so deep that it is still downright physically painful. A bottomless, heavy ache travels straight through to my soul. I suppose I am fortunate that this is the first time I have ever experienced sadness of this magnitude.
Time is supposed to heal all wounds, right? I don’t think grief is that simple. In fact, I don’t think it’s productive to focus on what “stage” of grief is happening. Everyone feels whatever they feel whenever they feel it. Period. Over-analyzing just adds more stress. I wish there were a finite mathematical formula to calculate exactly when and what I will feel. This way, I could plan and be prepared. However, there is only one equation that sums it up for me: the loss of my dad plus pop-up memories equals unavoidable strong emotional reactions.
While I certainly don’t enjoy the exhaustion from bursting into tears at what seems like random times, I’ve gained a comforting insight. That physically painful sadness can only mean one thing: The deep love I have for my father has, and never will, wane. Not one bit. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.
So, bring on those triggers. I’ll be overwhelmed with sadness. I’ll feel the grief ravage my whole body. I’ll relive the overwhelming emotions I had at the time my dad passed. But guess what? The memories of the many good times I had with my dad—especially his infinite, hilarious comments—will also come rushing back at the same time. I choose to see that as a win.
by Angela Joyner 
