This week has been extremely hard with grief. I have shared a lot of progress that I have made, but it wouldn’t be honest if I did not mention that each step I have taken forward has been bittersweet, set against the backdrop of grief.
Grief is real and is hard to wrap your mind and fingers around at times. There are moments where you feel like you are trying to control the waves of emotions, but in all honesty, they are controlling you.
I have been very transparent about my journey of grief on social media, and over the past month, many people have reached out to share their journeys through grief, the loss of loved ones, and the isolation felt during it all.
Consider this an honest inbox that shared these words:
Or, this comment on a recent post I shared about grief: even people within the social justice community often fail to show compassion to those navigating personal pain:
Grief was not a topic I chose, and I'm still trying to find my way through it, as some days it feels overwhelming. It is hard, but I am grateful for the few rare people who have reached out to me.
It's hard to believe that my dad hasn't been gone long, yet it feels like an eternity.
Here are a few words that I wrote on grief:
Sometimes I have a hard time explaining grief and an even harder time going through it. To me, grief is like the pages of a book; our story progresses smoothly until an unexpected twist alters the narrative completely, leading us into a new chapter. Even though the pages keep turning and you may be a page or a few chapters past that part of the story, it doesn't mean that one moment on that page in that chapter has left the book.
Instead, it somehow becomes the backdrop of the continued story and sometimes informs it. As I keep journeying through grief, I am trying to find new ways to listen to it and honor that part of the story that will never leave.
Some characters may change in the story, while others will not understand your grief. This element adds complexity to the journey, like annotations in the margins that bring both clarity and new questions.
Maybe questions of doubt, maybe questions of heartache—maybe just questions you will never know the answers to. This misunderstanding can lead to a sense of isolation, as the path of grief is often a solitary one, even in the company of others.
I'm doing the best I can to understand my grief as I navigate the world after experiencing the loss of my dad and living with a disability after a horrible accident. Rather than trying to get rid of my grief, I'm learning to use it to inform my growth and rewrite a newer narrative as I heal.
Recently, an artist named Shakim Winslow (a person I have never met) gifted me with a drawing of my dad during one of my most challenging moments with grief.
With that being said, I want to say if you are someone who is grieving, you are not alone. You have permission to be honest with your grief, as comfortable as you feel with sharing, and it is okay to honor your loss while realizing that words can sometimes feel empty when trying to explain how your loss may hurt. I encourage you to grieve as long as you need and express yourself as much as you need.
I pray these words somehow comfort you when you need it most and that you hold on to the good memories.
Lastly, I want to say, Dad, I miss you every day, and I hope you are proud.
Son
Losing a father is like losing an anchor point. (Going on 10 years for me). Please know that how you feel in any given moment is okay. Those early grief waves are sometimes almost too much to bear.