|Mr. Allen, White County High School|
Grief is a funny thing. Not funny ha-ha or funny “that is so interesting,” but funny “what the…”
My default for handling things that are generally unpleasant, sad, upsetting, or otherwise is not to handle them. I use what I call the Interpreter Protocol – I close the door on whatever it is, build a wall to keep it out and try not to bother it again. And before any of you point it out, I know that isn’t healthy or at all recommended.
I’ve been saying to anyone that asks me how I’m doing since losing my dad that “I’m okay” and “really, I’ve had the last few years to deal with it” and “He hasn’t known me since about 2014 anyway” as though any or all of those phrases are the gospel truth. In fact, however, those phrases have been my protection – my wall that keeps my emotions safe from interaction with the pain and the guilt and all of those side effects that come with losing a parent.
The other day I posted a picture that I saw while at the farmer’s market that I thought he would have found terribly funny. I can still hear his laugh and see him wiping away tears that always came with something tremendously funny. At the moment, when I posted it, I was not sad. I was not grieving. I was happy that I could see something and have a pleasant memory of my father that made me and Simon laugh to share. But that laughter – that humor – that’s just another brick in my homemade wall.
Today I’ve had moments of profound sadness and I dealt with them the only way I know how – I ran. I pulled out a manuscript to work on, I cleaned out the makeshift food pantry in my desk because my summer hols from work are coming on, I did anything I could to stop thinking about whatever it was that set me off earlier. It worked – I cannot remember for the life of me what the trigger was this time.
But the sadness remains. I still miss him, even though it is not as visceral a feeling as the loss my mother and my sister are feeling. I miss him in the way that I missed both my parents during my first summer working at Camp Glisson, the first night of staff training week when all the fun and noise and laughter faded into the silent realization that I was alone in a new place with strangers. I miss him in the way you suddenly realize that something is gone as you pull away from university after graduation. This new reality is not that different from the one I was in a month ago, or a year ago, or even three years ago – and yet it is completely different and funny – and not funny, all at the same time.
|The sign in question is the one on the right. Their tagline, “All Natural. No Doo-doo.
No kidding,” would have made Daddy laugh until he cried, I am fairly certain.