milestones
When a baby is born we get to celebrate all the firsts. The first smile, the first tooth, the first steps. We get to celebrate their physical advancement, knowing that, generally speaking, they will continue to grow and develop.
My supervisor (and friend) Sally's Mom died yesterday. It took the wind right out of me. It's been only a few days since we passed the first anniversary of my father's death, and without warning, hearing of the death of a parent of someone close to me sucker punched me.
The memory of that day has faded, but every now and again, like today, my body remembers what that feels like, hearing the words, "You're Dad had a heart attack. He didn't make it. I'm sorry." My knees are weak and my stomach flails around in my guts like a fish churning up water in a shallow bucket. I feel out of breath because I am hollow from head to toe and the air passes through me so that I am lighheaded and confused and disoriented. Hot tears sting my eyes and I fight them, like I've always fought them, and my heart aches for Sally, and for her sisters, and her children and grandchildren. And it aches for me, and for my sisters and for my children. And it aches for my friends Carold & Babzy, the haunting picture of their Dad that reappears from time to time on their blogs. And it aches for every child who has lost a parent. It feels like you've lost your moorings for a bit, unhinged and flapping in the wind, with the unbearable burden of finding someone who could ever fill their shoes, then realizing that it has to be you.
Losing a parent bites. Send happy thoughts to Sal today.
My supervisor (and friend) Sally's Mom died yesterday. It took the wind right out of me. It's been only a few days since we passed the first anniversary of my father's death, and without warning, hearing of the death of a parent of someone close to me sucker punched me.
The memory of that day has faded, but every now and again, like today, my body remembers what that feels like, hearing the words, "You're Dad had a heart attack. He didn't make it. I'm sorry." My knees are weak and my stomach flails around in my guts like a fish churning up water in a shallow bucket. I feel out of breath because I am hollow from head to toe and the air passes through me so that I am lighheaded and confused and disoriented. Hot tears sting my eyes and I fight them, like I've always fought them, and my heart aches for Sally, and for her sisters, and her children and grandchildren. And it aches for me, and for my sisters and for my children. And it aches for my friends Carold & Babzy, the haunting picture of their Dad that reappears from time to time on their blogs. And it aches for every child who has lost a parent. It feels like you've lost your moorings for a bit, unhinged and flapping in the wind, with the unbearable burden of finding someone who could ever fill their shoes, then realizing that it has to be you.
Losing a parent bites. Send happy thoughts to Sal today.
Comments