Stages of Grief

On the day of my father’s visitation, I went to church to seek help. I needed to talk to someone stronger in the faith than myself. I needed a priest, a nun, an older woman with a lot of wisdom, anyone who could help me understand. I was angry, furious really. My father, my amazing father, was taken from me for no damn reason. He was healthy. He was kind. He was everything a man should be. Why in the world would God take him from me? 

What I got when I walked into St. Phillip Neri in Fort Mill, was Isa. Isa works with the parish as an administrative assistant. Isa lost her father some years before and was kind enough to sit with me in the church as I questioned my faith, my purpose, God’s plan, and life. She left so I could take a second and pray. I learned in this moment that grief never truly leaves you. Grief is something that sticks around longer the more you love someone. For me, that means I will be in some stage of grief my whole life. 

The church was silent. The pews were empty, but full of Bibles, tissues, and the energy of people past. I sat in the back pew closest to the aisle wearing a bright yellow tank top. The brightness of my top was contradictory to what I was feeling inside. I should have been wearing black from head to toe. A veil to cover my face and let everyone know I was unavailable. Unavailable physically, emotionally, mentally. I am giving it all to grief. I screamed. In the quiet church, I screamed. I scream at the top of my lungs, “Why God? Are you even real?! Help me.”

Not even an echo came back to me. I was feeling lost. 

The stages of grief washed over me every minute, constantly changing in motion with the clock on the wall. Shock, denial, anger, bargaining, depression — and lastly acceptance. Although acceptance is one that was fleeting. Acceptance is one I am not sure I will ever fully embrace, not like how I fully embrace anger and denial. 

What I have learned from going through this is: Everyone is grieving, even years after a loss. And a new loss will bring back the feelings of every loss you have ever felt. For me, it brought back my grandmother’s passing in 1997, my best friend’s murder in 2014, every pet I ever lost, and the pieces of me that died with them all. I am feeling shattered. 

How do you show the world you’re shattered and ask for compassion as you try to navigate this new normal — a life without my father, my everything?