Earlier this year, in February, my father passed away. I couldn't bring myself to write about it at the time. Actually all I felt like doing was crying. And I didn't know what to write really. How do you put grief and loss into words? I couldn't figure it out. So I never wrote anything.

I have a friend whose blog I read faithfully. In addition to her beautiful photography, her writing is so captivating and magically descriptive that I get lost in her words every time I sit down to read. Sadly, she lost her mother to cancer a short time ago. And in her writing about it, I have found words for my emotions. She has given me permission to quote her (thank you). So, I will finally share (even though they aren't my own words) my feelings, and hope it can suffice.

"I’ve given up on wearing mascara.
What’s the point, really, when at some point during the day tears will steal the lush from my lashes and create inky rivulets down my cheeks and dark smudges beneath my bloodshot eyes?
Don't feel sorry for me. I almost relish the moments when sorrow pours from my head to my feet and my heart tightens a bit as grief washes me clean. If I didn't hurt it would mean that I don't love-- that I haven't lost anything.

[My daughter] talks of my mom every day. ... Most of our talk is happy but she brings me tissues and crawls into my lap when I break into sobs. She seems to know intuitively that I need to talk about it, that I need to cry.

Grief is exhausting. Every task is a herculean effort. And yet my proverbial plate is full and overflowing and spilling from the sides. So I've eliminated everything I can-- I'm not volunteering at the school, the yard and house are going to seed until winter covers them with it's forgiving blanket (could I get a little snow on my laundry pile please, or in [my daughter's] room?)."

Her words are just so true of how I felt. The exhausting grief hung over me for about 6 months. For the first few months I called my mother daily to make sure she was alright. I know I missed some things, some days I just tried to go through the motions, and I failed on a lot of those days.

Now, finally, I'm beginning to feel (almost) whole again. I'm starting to function a little more normally now. I know that hole will always be there, and every once in a while I'll still think of something I want to share with him, and then realize he's no longer just a phone call away. Sometimes the kids forget and ask when Grandpa Charlie will send them a letter again, and I have to remind them too. But I'm moving on. I'm learning to live without him.

I'll try hard to find my own words to write about my Dad. For now, writing anything is a big step for me. So, thank you, Michelle, for letting me borrow your words to get me started.