the bright white light

Grief is the craziest experience of my life, thus far.
It is not linear.
It does not follow a path or a pattern or any type of algorithm that we can track.
It just, is.
And, some days, grief is filled with the darkest shade of blue I have ever encountered. It swallows you whole and causes your lungs to forget how to breathe. It pulls you in every direction other than where you are just to try to escape the pain that your heart is feeling. Just to escape the seconds ticking forward on the clock without them here. That has been my reality most of this month. It feels like I’m losing my dad all over again.
I fear driving alone, because I know grief will find me in the passenger seat.
I find myself playing games in my mind to try and trick the thoughts from coming.
But they are already there.
They are always there.
And, in these moments, it feels like it might be like this forever. It feels like this darkness will never pass. It feels like this might be a new reality that no one would ever willingly sign up for.
Maybe you are here.
Maybe you are nodding your head or maybe the tears are knocking on the corners of your eyes and running down your cheeks while everything within your body begs you to run with them.
To escape it.
To hide from it.
To leave it before you are left again.
But, if you’re brave enough to sit in the darkness, I can promise you that grief also brings the brightest white light that I have ever felt. It promises paths around the corner that our tiny minds could never comprehend. It wraps its arms around you and holds you closer than any hug on earth ever could. It shines down from the full moon and lights the path that you never would have see if the darkness didn’t come.

This morning, I woke up and celebrated my daddio’s birthday in the one place that he almost feels as much here as he is gone.
And the tears came, but the bright white light caught them before they hit the ground.
And the missing him crept in, but so did the promise that every day without someone is another day closer to seeing them again.
I felt his arms and I heard his voice and I sat on a dock covered in ice, warm.

The darkness will come, and the ice will form, but if we are brave enough to pause long enough, the light will follow to melt the ice and warm our hands enough that they may continue building all of the things they were put on this earth to build.

Happy birthday, Daddio.
I can’t wait for your light to shine on all of the things I will continue to build, covered in your wit and your wisdom and, most importantly,
your fingerprints.

Here’s to another trip around the full moon.

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