Into the Wind
How Father's Day can release old wounds and become a source of joy
I’m a bereaved daughter. My father died on September 1, 2022 and his death left a hole in my heart.
It was a different form of pain than the death of my younger sister Tracy. Her death felt traumatic. My father’s death felt well earned. He had been suffering from complications with dementia for seven years and by the time he took his last breath, he was paper thin and unreachable.
His death was mixture of relief, sadness and gratitude.
To commemorate him and help me process my grief, I’ve been bringing my father’s ashes with me during my travels. He’s been my companion as I journeyed across Canada this past year to launch by book and host grief trainings for health care providers and caregivers.
While my father’s resting place is nestled between the trees and shares the same space as my sister, I decided to keep some of him with me, knowing there was something else I needed to do.
I just didn’t know what that would be, back then.
The idea of scattering pieces of my dad into the wind was inspired from a passage of one of John Roedel’s poem. He wrote:
“Here is a piece of my heart. Please take it. Not as a souvenir but rather, as a deposit to ensure that no matter the distance or the dimension that may seperate us, I will always come back to you to make myself whole again.”
He had me at “make myself whole again.”
From Canada to St. Lucia and from Hungary to Czech Republic and a dozen places in between, I’ve released pieces of my father into the wind, reciting this passage each time.
With each letting go, my grief has dissipated.
This way of being with my grief has been both deeply honoring and liberating. I’ve confronted some of the past pains that naturally unfold between two people who are so alike, and yet, so different. I’ve made amends for past transgressions and discovered new ways to appreciate my father. I’ve laughed, cried, and contemplated the mystery of life … while releasing my father into the wind.
Grief, in all of its expression, can offer such nourishment. It’s simultaneously painful and soul lifting.
I’ve learned I can hold both at the same time.
We need to move beyond a binary way of thinking. As I continue to find creative and holistic ways to embrace my grief, I am noticing that cutting through our either/or thinking is really hard work.
It’s our natural default. Perhaps by pausing, and consider how I might hold both grief and joy at the same time, something new is revealed. I don’t have to compete with my grief. I can learn to be touched by it and trust that this experience will pass and I will be enriched because of it, not in spite of it.
Let that sink in for a moment and see where it takes you.
For those that are interested in connecting with a deceased loved one, I’ve created a practice to support integration. I hope you’ll consider upgrading to a paid subscription to access these grief practices.
