On 8 July, my beloved father-in-law died. He was 85 years young and still a very active man until cancer took hold. Just five months after his diagnosis, he was gone and it’s rocked the entire family.
Not least his wife, my mother-in-law, who at his bedside said to my husband – how awful this must be for him, her son, to wait for his father to take his last breath, just as we waited by Abi 13 years ago. I realised that while they supported and grieved with us, as her parents only me and my husband were there in those final moments with her, and there with her body afterwards. The wider family don’t have those painful memories, but my elderly father-in-law’s passing gave them an uncomfortable understanding.
The day after he died, my phone randomly showed me the photo of him dancing with Abi with the words ‘Spirited Steps’ over it. It seemed to confirm what I knew, that they were reunited and dancing together again.
Grieving a parent is the natural order of things, but no less hard. And I would never compare one grief against another. I never knew my own father, but my husband’s adopted me when I met him 29 years ago as the daughter he never had and always treated me with grace, patience and generosity. So while he wasn’t my flesh and blood, he was the rock that kept our family strong and I’ll miss him terribly.
I’ve grieved deeply a number of people in the 13 years since Abi died – most notably, a mum friend who took her own life, a long-time friend and mentor to my children who died from cancer, and a close friend’s husband who also died from cancer, all within the last few years. It feels like we’re going into a season of more sadnesses than joys as friends and family experience ill health and death.
I hear from readers of this blog, in comments and emails, about their multiple losses and it always moves me to know the great burdens that people carry. The weight of grief is heavy indeed. Being around others who understand is more important than ever, even if that is in the digital world.
While I’ve published books and articles on this topic, I’m acutely aware that no book or blog post will repair the chasm of grief. Nothing fixes it – nothing but time and gentle compassion. I’m always cautious about recommending anything that claims to help people ‘get over’ loss, because nothing does. What I hope my journal offers isn’t a fix, but a companion – somewhere to put down a little of the weight on the days it feels too heavy to carry alone. That’s not nothing, even if it isn’t everything.
In a couple of weeks, we’ll all be getting dressed up, not to celebrate but to mourn as we say our farewells to my father-in-law at his funeral. I’m grateful that our friend who is a vicar and took Abi’s funeral, has accepted our request to conduct the proceedings. And with all the busyness of the time from now till then, I know it’s the days after when it will hurt the most, when everything goes back to the way it was – except for this one large void in our family that’s now taken up by grief, again.
