Rewiring Grief
The Thanksgiving holiday season is filled with myriad triggers of grief for me. After my dad’s stage 4 pancreatic cancer diagnosis, we used the season to travel north from Memphis, spend time together as a family, and allow my dad to bid adieu in a way that felt good for him.
My sister had planned to come but could not at the last minute for various reasons. Her absence only made the trip sadder for me.
Upon our return, we quickly shifted into Christmas prep, decorating the tree, baking, and laughing. As my dad got ready to go home, we noticed clumps of hair on his shoulder and the couch. The chemo was effective at limiting his pain and allowing him to function, but it also attacked his hair follicles, and his prized hair (we have this in common) began to fall out. We shared a cry, and Em and Nate took him home.
What would unravel upon their arrival is a painful blur that ended with my baby sister in the ICU, a place she’d never leave.
Long ago, this season also hosted the death of my biological mother and grandfather. The sadness I feel at this time of year exists at a cellular level. Therapy and grief counseling have helped, and so have different holiday traditions, allowing me to build a new narrative and sense of joy about this time of year.
This year, we traveled to Portugal with our oldest daughter to experience history, food, wine, and a bit of peace as we celebrated her launch into a month-long artist residency, exploring various mediums to express the impact of the 1755 Lisbon earthquake.
The trip was celebratory and soothing. The deep history of the place reminded me that the US is still young as a nation, with many things to learn and opportunities to evolve. That grounding is essential as we search for the best of us amid so many expressions to the contrary.
The memories we created with our oldest daughter add to those we’ve created over the past few years with our youngest and build a foundation for future adventures during this time that will continue to repair our broken hearts and create space for joy. And for all of this, I am thankful.
