In 2018, I wrote down my desire to normalize the dialogue around death, loss and grieving.
I remember a time when I didn’t have language for losing my dad beyond this auto-response sentence “My dad died when I was 4 and then my mom remarried to a man who was also widowed and I got a new dad and gained a sister.” I’d been using this response for years to describe what happened to my family. It was easier to language the fairytale ending I was blessed to have than the numbness I concurrently felt.
It wasn’t just that I couldn’t talk about it, I could barely think about it without welcoming a distraction, ANY distraction. I remember sometimes I’d see a picture of my birth dad and feel so far removed and then I’d feel guilty for those thoughts. And that was my cycle. I was doing my best.
One day the switch flipped and I suddenly started incorporating him and his loss into my vocabulary and gave him mindshare and air time during table talk. I remember testing the waters by bringing up his death with friends and family.
It’s really hard work to shine a spotlight at the thing that pains us the most. The point of grief is to bring to consciousness what’s in the darkness and integrate it into our lives. Coming home to your power is possible when you embrace your tragical as your magical.