Rewriting the Unhealthy Narrative

On this day, 6 months to the day since my father passed away, and 3 days away from what would have been…hell…should have been his 74^th birthday, I’m not as despondent as I once was. I’ve reflected. I’ve cried. I’ve been angry. I’ve been resentful. I’ve been beyond depressed. I’ve read grief books. I’ve completed a 12-week mindfulness program. And I can honestly say that despite the sadness that will always linger like a tickle in my heart…I’m no longer drowning in the grief that my father’s absence has caused.

I no longer look back over those 6 weeks or even the several months prior, blaming myself for what happened or thinking that my family blamed me for what happened. My father was a stubborn and powerful man, and regardless if I was still living in the same state, there was nothing that I or anyone could have made him do if he didn’t want to. It was an endearing and infuriating quality lol. Being there was the only thing that I had in my control and I’m thankful for that time…with my mom, my brother and his girlfriend, my husband and furbaby and of course with my Dad. It was that gift of time, no matter its brevity, that is what I have no doubt gave him the strength to keep fighting as long as he did. My eternal gladiator.

The anger that I once felt towards the comments from people outside of our bubble, both inappropriate and intrusive, has faded to a dull sadness and disappointment. At the end of the day, I can only control how I respond to situations or people and their actions, and I don’t want to let any anger change me or the progress I’ve made since moving out to the desert. It’s not healthy for me or for those that I love that I keep in my circle to be consumed by anything that isn’t relevant. Continuing to attempt to live my best life with my little family is what I’m going to continue to do to honor the love I have for my husband and the love that I have for my father.

I’m mindful of the auto-pilot that I succumb to at times, and I now have the tools and the strength I need to pull myself out of it. Replacing those images that aren’t healthy for me to dwell on with moments of laughter, sarcasm, pride and sadness from the other 40 years that I was lucky enough to have with him. Of course I still have times where I let the tears flow, because regardless of me rewriting the narrative a bit, the world is still without my father. At least now, for the most part, after I wipe those tears away I can finish it up with a smile and think about how he would react to all of the good things that are happening to his daughter and son-in-law, his wife and how proud he would be of everything she is doing and accomplishing, and of his son and the love that he found. I know he still sees it, still sees us, still sees me. He is that voice in my head when I hike, or when I sit in silence. I can hear what I imagine he would say in those moments and it moves me. So I will continue to charge forward, making personal, emotional and professional progress to myself, knowing that he is still with me and still loving and proud of his Andy.