Grief is a natural part of life that we experience regularly. We grieve over making choices, changes in relationships and careers, or quitting bad habits. We also grieve when we leave something behind or move in a new direction.

For me, letting go has always been difficult. I have held on to things even when they are not meant for me or have run their course. I have almost never dated any romantic partner just once and had the same car for over 15 years without wanting to part with it.

However, grief related to death is an entirely different beast. Death is its own challenge, and it has always intrigued and scared me. I have experienced some loved ones pass away over the years, but I have never felt cheated or broken until my father’s unexpected death just three months ago.

Grief forces you to change even when you are unprepared, and it has changed how I feel about everything. Since my father died, I have been using the same emotional cycle of thinking about the traumatic event that happened over and over again. I ask myself a bunch of questions and find myself feeling angry and disappointed.

I feel angry and disappointed that this tragedy happened during a pandemic when most of my normal, healthy coping mechanisms cannot be used to deal with this heavy situation. I cannot travel, especially now that my baby is new, do a challenging CrossFit workout or run to the beach.

I am suffocating in isolation and grief that nobody can fully understand except for my sister. Many people have said to me, “but you have a healthy, happy baby to find joy in!” Having my baby here does not take away the fact that I have been robbed, and he has been deprived of a grandfather.

I want so badly to feel close to my dad, but I need to learn how to make that happen right now. I have been busy giving birth, recovering from birth, and learning how to be a mother, but I feel immense pressure to “keep his memory alive.” I want to take action with this grief, but I feel paralyzed.

I miss him, which is the most painful and lonely part. Missing him is the part that makes my body physically broken. I miss his voice, his silly jokes, and how he solved my problems and cleaned up my messes. I miss his hugs and his laugh.

I am disappointed that there was so much left unsaid. He had a lot left to do in this world, but he didn’t get a say. If this can happen to him, then it can happen to anyone. This makes me feel unsafe and question the purpose of anything I am doing.

Now, I am in recovery from grief, and I am mad about that too.

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