The Ocean of Grief

There was a Facebook post circulating a while ago that compared grief to an ocean. The post read that experiencing grief is akin to being lost out at sea, with tides that ebbed and flowed. There was no compass, no map charting out your journey. You were simply afloat.

My dad passed away almost a year ago and this analogy is the most accurate way I've seen to describe what I've been going through since. Grief has no pattern, it has no rules; similar to the water of the ocean, it can rise and strike without warning, or it can be calm and simply lick at your heels on the beach. I can be what I consider to be "totally fine" and "in control," like a captain that has sailed this route a hundred times before, but before I know it I've been sent overboard into a screaming, swirling whirlpool that doesn't allow me to tell up from down.

I've put off writing this post for a long time now because I didn't want to deal with it. I knew it would be one of those things to plunge me back into the waters. But not dealing with it is also just as bad. I hate acting like I'm okay. I hate making funny Facebook posts and empty blog entries and trying to put out into the world that I'm fine and that I'm totally over it - when it fact I'll never be fine, and I'll never be over it.

I thank God every night for the 24 years that he gave me my dad for. My dad was the greatest father I could have ever wanted. He loved me, he cherished me, I was his Princess. But he also wouldn't take any of my shit (which I would give him a lot of, growing up.) He would talk about God with me every single day. No conversation was a wasted opportunity to teach me something, to have me self-reflect about something. We were never just shooting the breeze (except when watching college football together.)

He had the ability to solve every single one of my problems. He was like a superhero in my eyes. I know he had his flaws, I mean we all do, but I could come to him with anything and he would know exactly what to say (most of it involved going to the scripture.) We were so much alike, which is probably why he knew me better than anyone.

Now that he's gone, I have to solve my own problems. I hear his voice in my head a lot. Like right now, for example. "Why are you crying, PJ?" He'd say. "You'll see me again before you know it, you know that right? Stop taking life so seriously." Then he'd make a joke and I would be left laughing, wiping away my tears.

I experience periods of time where I feel like I'm completely in control of my grief. But then I have a dream, like last night, where my dad's alive and we're having a normal day together. And then I wake up and I swear I have to go through the complete cycle again. I wake up and I'm in shock that he's gone, then I'm angry that he died, then I cry because I'm sad that I can't talk to him about it, and then I become calloused and upset until I eventually accept it because I have to in order to go about my day.


We shy away from death and avoid talking about it as if it were the ultimate taboo. Why? Everyone dies. Every single person has experienced death. Why can't we talk about it? I'm sick of not talking about it.

My pastor had an excellent sermon this past Sunday about "rejoicing with those who rejoice" but also "weeping with those who weep." We want to celebrate with those who are experiencing great things, but we are terrible when it comes to supporting those who have gone through tragedy (myself included.) We don't want to bring up death because we think it'll make the other person feel "awkward," or we wouldn't know what to say. And yeah maybe bringing up a dead person at a dinner party isn't the way to go about things. But there's nothing stopping us from texting someone just to let them know we're thinking about them, or sending a cute card in the mail, or whatever, just anything. Just saying something is what matters.

I'm not making this post for sympathy, I actually am doing quite well all things considered. There's my husband to mostly thank for that. I just wanted to write something about what I'm going through and what I've experienced to hopefully help someone going through the same thing.

Losing someone you love really, really sucks, and the grief that comes with it never goes away. But there are people every step of the way sending you lifeboats and charting the stars to get you back home.

I love you dad.