The art of letting grief and joy co-exist

I recently, somewhat suddenly, lost my father. His heart stopped in the early morning hours almost three weeks ago and with it stopped the life I knew.

In many ways we take our parents for granted, which sounds negative, but to me is a beautiful reminder of what parenthood is about: Being the foundation on which our children can rely while they explore and grow into the humans they are meant to become. We expect our parents to always be there - and that is ok.

During childhood years we tend to perceive our parents as flawless - we love them unconditionally regardless of what we are presented with, because they are our parents, we only know the life they expose us to and we are very much dependent on them. Then we grow up and realise that they are only human, and with that label comes the ability to mess up and make 'mistakes'. I wrote a post a while back about how all parents mess up their children. Not because anyone wants to mess up other people (in particular their children), but because messing up and making mistakes is an undeniable and, some would argue, important part of life.

My childhood was no different. Mistakes were made and my parents sadly messed up in many ways. Nevertheless, my father (and mother, who is thankfully still alive) was a constant source of love and in many ways my refuge during my early childhood years. He was an anker in the sense that he stayed put in Denmark no matter where I was - I would come 'home' and he would be there. I have lived in several different countries throughout my life and so have most of my family members, but not my father - he stayed in Denmark. He travelled a lot during my childhood, but his base was north of Copenhagen and this, it turns out, has been a comforting fact. His door was always open and his presence fully there. A gift I, for many complicated reasons, didn't use as much as I could have, but he knew I loved him. Words I said to him many times during my life, including, thankfully, the last time I saw him.

It's an interesting thing, that when you lose someone you love, suddenly things you never considered become signs that remind you of them. It comes up in small ways during the day: Birds flokking, a boat in the horizon, a grapefruit, a song, the way you clean a table. Small things that remind the heart that the person is no longer physically present, but very much spiritually still there - and this brings comfort. With baby steps I am learning how to let grief and joy co-exist. An art form that isn't learnt over night and in no way comes as a linear process.

Life has changed and with it comes new ways of doing things. My father was the head of the family and has left a big gap. Everything that was natural because of his presence now needs to find new ways forward - we all have to work out how we function together without him. Baby steps, till one day, hopefully, it all lands in a way that honours the life he led and the love he equipped us with.

Love and loss are interconnected. You cannot have one without the other. And so, grief becomes a reminder of the love you had for the person you lost. A love that is struggling to find the receiver - a love that is homeless for a while. I am working on turning this love inwards. Finding a place within me for the memories of my father to live while knowing that my relationship with him was uniquely mine.

If you are going through something similar, maybe this will resonate with you. At least that is my hope.