Free shipping on all orders over $75🎄

I lost my dad at the beginning of the summer.

The last time I saw him, my daughter and I picked him up from the hospital after his bout of pneumonia. She talked to him about her last day of kindergarten and how she would now be a first-grader. He sat cupping his warm mug of coffee in his favorite chair while his favorite blanket covered his legs.

He smiled and giggled about the kindergarten stories. He and my daughter share the same birthday so he always had that Pop-Pop proud look on his face toward her.

He was tired from sleepless nights in the hospital and the effect pneumonia had on his body, which already was doing double work with his COPD.

Thirty-six hours after we sat with him, he was gone.

It was sudden, yet deep in my heart, I expected it this summer.

RELATED: My Mom’s Death Was Expected, But It Didn’t Hurt Any Less

And now two months later, as I stare into a clear, beautiful sky with both my parents in Heaven, and I wonder what Heaven is like. Is it as beautiful and peaceful as we hear? It’s a weird feeling looking to the heavens and wondering what both your parents are experiencing.

It’s not common thought for most women my age. As one of my friends said, “It’s indescribable.” Another friend said, “It must be a feeling of being untethered.”

If I am honest, each morning I wake up and it feels like a dream or maybe a nightmare that my parents aren’t here anymore.

Going through grief and loss is not my strong suit.

You would think it would be with some of the life experiences I have had, losing my parents, grandparents, and friends to Heaven.

One would probably assume I have navigated this road well. To be honest, I haven’tI have struggled. After both my parents’ passings, I have struggled with heightened anxiety and anxiety attacks. Both are paralyzing, yet they’ve uncovered some of my own fears and where my anxiety is rooted.

In my conversations with friends, I have realized that my places of vulnerability in pain will birth community. It gives ground for people to tell their stories, their memories, and gives them the ability to be raw in their emotions.

Vulnerability creates a lifeline for people and allows community to bloom.

In the past, I believe my level of perfectionism created a barrier for people because it made them feel like they couldn’t be real or had to put on a front to match the front of perfectionism. And perfectionism really just covers up shame. And perfectionism will not heal my grief. It stops it and settles it in my heart—rooting and covering up the real fears.

RELATED: To Those Who Know the Bitter Hurt of Losing a Parent

It can be really hard to touch the emotions in grief, and honestly, it’s undesirable to work through. It is a lot to digest and navigatethe reasons of anxiety behind it. And I’m someone who avoids pain if I can.

Through the recent loss of my father, I’m learning daily to have grace with myself. To pace myself. To uncover myself. To find myself.

And I’ve learned we can be people who are resilient in grief and intentional in how we grieve, but only if we take all the hard places, feel them to their root, uncover the root, and piece the broken pieces back together with a greater purpose.

My story is not marked or defined by grief. My story is based on what I do with it.

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our new book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available now!

Order Now

Sue Volikas

I've been married to my high school sweetheart, Tim, for 18 years and became a mom 6 years ago through adoption to my adventure seeker daughter. I'm trying to see the beauty and hope in broken places. I write one glimpse at a time about grief and loss, mother-daughter relationships, adoption, and faith.

Death Leaves A Heartache No One Can Heal, Love Leaves A Memory No One Can Steal

In: Death of a Parent, Grief
Death Leaves A Heartache No One Can Heal, Love Leaves A Memory No One Can Steal www.herviewfromhome.com

January 17, 2017 will be one year my father is gone. 365 days since I held my dad’s hand. 8,760 hours since I told him, “I love you more Dad.” 525,600 minutes since my Dad told me, “No, I love YOU more.” His death was expected; he suffered the last four years of his life. He was eager to cross over to Heaven, I didn’t want to let go. His final resting place is in a beautiful, well maintained cemetery located in the heart of an affluent community. He’s buried next to my grandparents with a big beautiful headstone. The grounds...

Keep Reading

For As Long As We Love, We Grieve

In: Grief
For As Long As We Love, We Grieve www.herviewfromhome.com

I’m still grieving. Yes, still.  I made it until almost lunchtime today before I was forced stop, and consciously think about it. My better half arrived home carrying a cellophane-wrapped bundle of sunflowers; as I felt the weight of their green stalks in my hand, I looked down at the driveway asphalt, and tried to will myself to hold it together. To hold the line before everything in me succumbed to sadness. Today would have been my dad’s 68th birthday. I didn’t want to make a fuss about it. After all, he’s been gone for working on two years now (even though...

Keep Reading

Grief is a Journey All Your Own

In: Grief
Woman sitting by ocean alone

January 31st, 2020 was day 365. Exactly 365 more days than I thought my heart was ever going to be able to handle. Approximately 372 days earlier I began a journey, the type of journey that splits your life into two parts—the time before day 372 and the time after 372. On the evening of January 21st, 2019, my dad was admitted into the hospital for what we thought was a simple upper respiratory infection. He immediately got better upon admission, but within 48 hours, my brothers and I were making the hardest decisions of our lives, all while trusting...

Keep Reading