Grief and Denial: Head vs Heart
I’ve taken training classes about helping others through grief; I’ve read books and articles on the subject, been a listening ear for friends trudging their way through it.
I know denial is the first “stage” of grief. I suppose I’ve often pictured it rather dramatically. A heart-wrenching scene, possibly even accompanied by sobbing and/or hysterics. {Too many Lifetime movies, perhaps?}
At the very least, I’ve always thought denial was literally denying the facts. That’s common when someone receives very bad news: the cancer has spread; your spouse is leaving you; the doctor can’t find the baby’s heartbeat…
I watched my dad do this, denying for a long time that he had ALS. Dad convinced himself the doctors were wrong about his diagnosis. This is what “typical” denial looks like.
But for me, it’s not like that.
I know my Dad died. There have been no moments of denying that fact.
My uncle says he’s briefly forgotten, just long enough to pick up the phone with the intention of sending Dad a text to check on him — and then he remembers.
But I haven’t forgotten, not even for a minute; I almost wish I could.
I’m careful to use past tense verbs when I speak of him. I’ve taken screen-shots of our last text conversations just in case I accidentally delete them because I know I’ll never get another text from Dad. When Ken says he needs to start spraying the peach tree to keep off insects, I know it’s because Dad won’t be reminding us this year. When my car wouldn’t start last week, I knew I couldn’t ask my dad what the problem might be. I know why his motorcycle jacket is here at my house, instead of his own.
While on a walk in the Tennessee mountains on last weekend’s blogger retreat, I put my toes in the ice cold creek because I knew that would’ve made Dad smile — but even as I did so, I knew I wouldn’t be able to tell him about it.
I know all this, but I only know it in my head. My heart is not yet convinced, and it’s going to take a long time, bit by bit, for my heart to work its way through this.
Wife, mom, J-ma. Introvert who enjoys good books, sunshine, and authentic conversation. Often seen with a steaming mug of tea in hand – unless it’s lost yet again in the microwave. Read more »
Jamie,
I am so sorry for your heart hurt. It’s a deep hurt no one can understand. Not fully. When we lose a parent, we lose a part (here) we have always had with us. It alters our hearts, our lives our daily life puzzle. I am praying for you sweet friend. You are loved and one day the tears that flow (and are being captured in a bottle) will be wiped away – never, ever to flow again. I wish I could have gone with all of you last weekend. I would have cherished hugging you.
I’m lucky enough to still have both parents, so I won’t pretend to know what you are feeling, but I am sending you a big and non-creepy virtual hug. So sorry for your loss.
Very touching! Tears came to my eyes as you described putting your feet in the cold water and not being able to tell your dad. Blessings, Delana “3 Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, 4 who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. 5 For as we share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too.[a]” 2… Read more »
Yes, that is exactly what losing a parent was like for me. I knew that my mother was gone, but my heart did not want to let her go, didn’t want to admit that I would have so many life experiences that she would never be a part of. It hurt so much that I could barely speak the words for quite a long time, even though I watched her battle cancer for 8 years and I knew that the day was coming. Praying for you as you work through the reality of your father’s passing.
This is a heart-wrenching post. I hope the the Lord will lighten your grief an infinitesimal bit each time one of us shares it for a moment. I think that’s why He tells us to weep with those who weep. Thank you for your very vulnerable sharing.
Miss you, friend. Praying for your precious heart to heal.
I have no words, Jamie. Just hugs and prayers.
Exactly. My head always accepts it before my heart, and once the heart begins to accept it, I go on an emotional roller coaster for a while and then get off the ride, dizzy. Then I can start talking about that person without crying, start thinking about the happy times without a thought to the end… Praying for you, Jamie.
Big hugs, friend. You’ve been on my heart and mind in a big way the past week. Praying over you. 🙂
Thinking of you, sweet friend. Isaac and I are sending you “squeezy hugs” as my kids call them. You’re in our prayers. XXOO
Oh boo hoo!! I have tears as I read this but I think you are treasuring memories in a beautiful way. Love seeing your toes in the TN stream.
(((HUGS))) and prayers! I think like you.. like grief is loud and uncontrollable (and it can be) but it also can be quite and controlled.. I remember when I lost all 3 of my 4 grandparents (which I realize is not the same as a parent) I remember thinking some of the same things.. I know they are gone but when Christmas rolls around and I realize my Grammy wont be sending her famous fudge, or when my brother-in-law joined the army I couldn’t talk to my grandfather about his experiences. But my heart didn’t want to accept that I… Read more »
It’s been 8 years since I lost my mom, but I remember having the same thoughts and struggles. I still have some of those thoughts, but time has made them sweeter. It helps you to remember the things you loved about them. You have so much on your plate right now. It was the same way for us when my mom died — my father-in-law died 2 weeks later, my husband was working out-of-state, and I was caring for 3 young kids (including one with autism) by myself until we could move in the summer — but somehow God worked… Read more »
So sorry for your loss. Losing a parent is so difficult to process, please know that many are praying for you through this difficult time.
I am so sorry for your loss. I lost my dad to cancer almost 3 years ago. It’s difficult…