Grief : It Sneaks Up on You

My Dad passed away eight months ago.

The name he went by depended on your relationship to him.

His legal name was Robert Kessenich. Some called him Bob, others Kess, and also Great-grandpa, Grandpa and Dad.

For the last three and a half years, my Father lived around the corner from me in an assisted living residence. He moved here at 96 years of age. This was a treat for me, because he formerly lived in Southern California, which meant that I only saw him once or twice a year.

Now I could visit with him each morning over breakfast at his apartment.

During the time Dad lived nearby, I helped him with daily issues…mainly medical.

It’s hard to watch your vibrant Dad slowly fade away.

One thing that never changed was his great smile.

After many infections that his body couldn’t withstand anymore,   he passed at 99 years old.

I could see it coming, but still, it was very hard for me to say goodbye.

I’ve had other family members pass before Dad, and I was sad. But I’ve always been close to my dad, and having him right around the corner for over three years made the grief much harder.

Some of my feelings surprised me.

It was difficult to sit down and gather my thoughts.

The first few weeks I felt as though I was in a fog.

Simple things I would forget. 

I had an appointment with a new doctor. It was just days since my dad had passed, and I debated cancelling. But since I was a new patient, and waited three months for the appointment… I went. 

At the front desk the receptionist asked my name, and for my insurance card. Then she followed up by asking my husband's birth date. We’ve been married for 44 years, I know his birth date. I’ve written it numerous times on forms. 

But at this moment …nothing. It startled me, and she asked again, (a little perturbed) "What's your husband’s birth date?”

I felt panicked, and thought “What is it?”

It started coming back. Slowly I told her. 

She gave me a skeptical look, and said, "Are you sure?”

As tears came to my eyes I explained, “My Dad just passed away three days ago. Honestly, I probably couldn’t tell you my birth date right now.”

Her expression changed, and with compassion she replied, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

She didn’t ask anymore questions.

They took me to the room to wait for the doctor. When he came in he said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

I thanked him.

Then he went through what I imagined is a typical new patient questionnaire. 

The first question…

“In the past two weeks have you felt sad, anxious, or suicidal?”

I replied, “Yes, Yes, No.”

He looked up at me, and said,

“I know you are going through a lot right now, so let’s say before the last few months, in general do you deal with these feelings?”

I said, “No.”

One of the weirdest appointments I’ve had. I was unprepared for the questions, and how they could make me tear up.

After the first couple of weeks the fog started to lift. 

I still had that ache in my heart, but I could think more clearly.

I had a lot of planning and responsibilities related to Dad.

With some help, I started packing up his room. I paid Dad’s rent through the end of the month, so I could take a couple of weeks to go through his belongings. 

Some days I would go to my Dad’s apartment and just sit. I would turn on the golf channel that he watched and climb into his cozy recliner. It smelled like him.

Some days the tears would flow, sometimes I would just laugh at memories we had together.

But as I started really working through his belongings, I came upon treasures.

I found a box of name cards that looked very old. As I turned them over, they were signed with a note from people in his high school graduating class. They were a memory that each class member traded with others. They would write funny messages as you would in a yearbook.

It was so fun to read these and see another part of my Dad.

I found out things I didn’t know before.

He was a great basketball player. He played on a team called the giants, but he was so skinny they called themselves “The Four Giants, and the Abbreviated Toothpick!”

Many students talked about what a great player he was.

Some classmates referred to plays he was in like Tom Sawyer, where he was the lead. I can imagine his fun outgoing personality made him popular with friends.

Each day as I went through more photos and knick-knacks, I

discovered new surprises about Dad. 

Grief is a funny thing.

Sometimes it’s just a dull ache, like a piece of my heart is missing. And sometimes a small thing will trigger me, and the tears flow. It might be a song, or a car driving by that reminds me of my dad’s blue Mustang convertible. He loved that car.

I still visit the assisted living home where my dad used to live. I love the residents and staff there. Some of the residents get very excited to talk when I come by. It's sweet. 

I don’t go every day anymore. But at least a couple times a week I walk over and visit the sweet elderly people there. They have a piece of my heart also. The Lord has given me such a love for them. 

For a while, I wouldn’t walk by my Dad’s room. I avoided that hallway.

It was too sad to see an empty room and his name removed from the door. 

Now most days at the residence are sweet memories. I love to welcome new residents and help them feel at home. I remember how hard it was at first for my Dad. I just want them to know they are seen and heard. 

It amazes me how often I hear a heartfelt, “It is so nice of you Kerry to come by and talk to me!”

It’s such a little thing for me to visit, but it means a lot to them.

Grief is a strange thing. In the beginning was the “fog” that clouded my thoughts. As time progressed, there were less tears and more talking of fond memories.

Sometimes grief sneaks up on me.

One day after visiting some of the residents at the care facility,

I headed down the hall toward home.

I felt fine, just thinking about the day ahead…and then I heard it. A cough from one of the rooms. It sounded just like the sound of my Dad’s cough. Instantly, tears came, and I knew I needed to leave before the dam broke loose.

I walked home where I could freely let my tears fall.

Another unexpected time was when we were on a family vacation. We were in Southern California, so I decided to swing by my Dad’s old house. He sold this home three years ago to live near me. As we pulled up in front of the house, that ache in my chest came again, and the tears. I felt like my Dad should open the front door to greet me, as he had for years. The house hadn’t changed in appearance, so it felt like he should be there. But my greeting from my Dad will have to wait until heaven.

One of my sisters sent me a card after Dad’s passing. It said,

“Sometimes, out of the blue,

a memory of your dad will catch you by surprise,

and you’ll laugh or cry or both…”

I’ve found this to be true in my grieving process.

Focusing on the memories, and his life that was well lived,

helps. Even though I miss him everyday, it hurts a little less over time. The Lord brings great comfort.

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes.There will be no more mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”   Revelation 21:4

If any of you are grieving, may the Lord comfort you as I 

pray blessings over you and yours.