A Bit of Reflection

Sometimes I have a thought. An epiphany of sorts. Reflecting on Thanksgiving will do that to me.

I wrote a book. I am currently having this book edited, then published. It’s not funny or witty. It isn’t fiction or adventure. It’s really my story and process through the first year or so of epic grief.

I’d like to say you will be mesmerized and fascinated. I’d love to be able to tell you it has life-altering advice. I’d also like to see it on a bestseller list if only to recoup the copious amounts of money and time I have spent on it.  But, I probably won’t.

What I can do is tell you it is my story. Personal and up-close. It’s about heartache and loss, about relationships and how they change through loss. The most important thing? It’s about using Five words to acknowledge and come alongside someone who is grieving. It’s about having a little something to say when you don’t know what to say.

I know you don’t think you should apologize for my hurt. You think by saying “I’m sorry” you are apologizing for something you haven’t done to me. That’s ok because that’s not what this is at all. The “I’m sorry” part of the five words is no apology. It’s a simple way for you to tell me you are here. You have come alongside my hurt, my anguish, my grief. You don’t really know what to say which hasn’t already been said, but you want to acknowledge me in this place.

This Place.

It’s yucky, confining. Yet- it is the largest place I have ever been. It holds me hostage until I cry mercy. It feels very small somedays. Everyone arrives here in some way. The ones who’ve lost someone are in the grand ballroom, spinning, and spinning. The ones who are about to enter are in the foyer. They haven’t quite accepted the invitation to grieve. The ones at the buffet have been here a long time, navigating through broken smiles and empty chairs. They are the ones I gravitate toward. Those who have gone before me down this road.

For me, I am a fatherless daughter, and I see it in them. Friends and co-workers who have no earthly dad. Our own special table in this house of longing. We grieve in a special way. We miss the inside jokes, the unexpected visits, and the way he laughed at us when we did something out of sorts. It’s about more than the empty chair. It’s about more than the gifts only a father can give a daughter. It’s about all the moments we hold. All those simple quiet moments.

Now it’s about having someone else come alongside us, to hold our hand while we tremble. It’s about a simple few words and a smile of understanding. It’s about feeling like I am seen during this journey, and loved, and known.

If you should choose to read this book, I would be honored. I would hope it would give you something to say to those who may need something simple. I hope it changes the awkward silences and the uncomfortable narrative of grief small talk.  I hope these Five words will give you or someone you love an open door to enter through.

Soon.

Xoxo,