Start a new chapter

My great-grandmother loved to read. Her house was full of books. Much like her I am an avid reader. As a little girl, I would disappear into a good mystery: the excitement that built as I turned each page. I would usually tell myself, “Just one more chapter.” This would be repeated dozens of times, until my eyes protested and let me know it was time to quit for the day.

Life is not as simple as reading a book, however. Change is good when it’s happening on a piece of paper, but it’s not so easy to accept in real life. Unfortunately, you can’t stay in your favorite chapter and keep reading it indefinitely.

A year and two months after my dad died, my family had to start a new chapter. My dad’s wife and son, as well as my aunt and long-lost cousin, all came to North Carolina for a visit, without my dad. As we picked them up from the airport, it felt like a layer of fog was hanging over us: heavy fog that wouldn’t let the rays of sun shine through. My mind kept telling me, “Dad should be here.” But he wasn’t.

This turning point was hard, but it was what I needed and the story did start to improve. We had a spectacular week together. We reminisced and we cried, but more than anything we laughed. I got to know my aunt, my dad’s wife and my favorite cousin better. My dad, who normally was the connector in our family wasn’t there to connect us, so we had to do it on our own.

While my aunt was with us, she said that the day my great-grandfather died they all worried about my great-grandmother surviving without him. They went into her room to check on her that night and found her snuggled in bed, reading a book. That was the last thing they expected a grief-stricken widow to be doing, but maybe she knew what I am just now understanding: sometimes you just have to turn the page and start a new chapter.

Struggle transforms

It seems that things often work out, for a reason beyond our comprehension. The things we fight and deny are the same things we need the most. I have seen a golden thread spun out of many bad situations. Perhaps you would rather avoid the grief; but if you can’t, at least you can let it mold you.

The last time I had dinner with my family, I felt overwhelming gratitude. I was happy and content. Sadly, it has taken me many years and much struggle to reach this point, but I have finally found peace. My husband asked me later, “Would you have believed ten years ago that you would feel this way?” Not a chance!

My dad’s death has opened many doors for his wife. I am sure she would have preferred to avoid the sadness of his loss, but she couldn’t. The choices she has made since his death are probably not the same ones she would have made before his death. She has taken a bad situation and found the golden thread.

Being an awkward child, I fought learning how to ride my bike. I was content running after all the kids on our block as they glided around on their bicycles. Finally my family had enough and I was forced to learn something most children can’t wait to master. It took much patience, and quite a few tears—mostly from those trying to teach me—but I finally got it. After all the struggle, my life improved. Something that had seemed impossible now was effortless.

Life can be the same way. We instinctively recoil when a difficulty is placed in our lap. As if it were a snake, we panic and push it away, pretending it doesn’t exist. We try to get as far away as possible. But this often just prolongs the agony. Struggling is an indicator that we are under construction. It means that we are changing and learning, not only about things around us, but about our own strength. It may require patience and quite a few tears, but after all the struggle, something that seemed impossible will become effortless. We will emerge like butterflies, amazed at our own capacity to transform.

It’s okay to feel sad

Some days I wake up sad and go to bed sad. It usually starts with something simple that spirals into deep, dark, overwhelming sorrow. This is not the norm for me. I’m not talking about depression or lifelong sadness. I am talking about weepy, emotionally fragile, cry in my coffee, stay in my pajamas all day and feel sorry for myself sadness. Some people would prefer you never to be sad. I am one of those. I HATE to see those I love sad. My husband battled with a heavy heart a few years ago, and it drove me crazy that I could not make him feel better. I took it personally. Sometimes, though, sadness is the only way to feel happiness. If we are truly sad and keep burying those feelings deeper and deeper, we will eventually lose track of them. Yet they will still exist, just waiting to be accidentally discovered at the most inopportune time.

I have found this to be especially true with my children. There are days when one of them will seem out of sorts. They are weepy, sullen and sad. It’s easy to tell them to “get over it,” but that only prolongs the problem. Even though it breaks my heart, I let them be unhappy. We talk about it and, yes, we usually have a good cry. And after a good night’s sleep, they manage to find their joyful spirit again.

So I have realized that, on the days when I am at my lowest, I must embrace my sadness instead of ignoring it. It’s amazing how our cells seem to remember what we try to forget. A smell, a song, a sound or a memory will bring the waves of anguish flooding in. So instead of running up the shoreline, I jump in and get wet. I feel worse for the time being, but once the sadness passes I feel refreshingly lighter.

It’s okay to have a gloomy day of sorrow. So when they come, don’t panic, and warn those around you that you are having a well-deserved “sad day.” Take some time for yourself and face whatever you’re feeling head-on. Cry, wail and weep. Then get a good night’s sleep, and hopefully by the morning you’ll find your joy again.

You need them

Why was my first phone call after my dad died to my mom? Because I needed her. I needed her strength in order to break the news to my sister. No matter how old we are, we still need our parents. We know that even if our mates or significant others don’t believe in us, our mom and dad will. They have the ability to support us the way no other human can.

My dad would tell me that he only heard from my brother in rough times. If things were going smoothly in my brother’s life, my dad wasn’t needed, and my brother could depend on himself. Sometimes, though, we reach the point emotionally when we don’t have the strength to take care of ourselves. Maybe it’s a tragic event, a bad week or some unexpected news. We manage to hold it together emotionally for our children, our mate, our friends. Then our mom or dad walks into the room and we break down like a little baby.

No matter how badly your parents treat you, no matter how old you are, you need them. I am a married woman with an amazing husband and three children of my own, but I will tell you that without a doubt the hardest part of losing my dad was that I still needed him. When I was a teenager, it may have been for superficial things: to borrow his car, to help me fix mine, gas, food, money—all those things you need as an adolescent.

But as I grew older, I needed his support, his understanding, his strength. All those times when your parent is the only one who will do. So the next time you feel like an independent and capable grown-up, take the time to appreciate your parents when you don’t need them, because the day may come when you do.

When did you need your parent's the most? Please feel free to comment.

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Regret is our GPS

Regret goes hand-in-hand with loss. What kind of regrets will we have in life? How many decisions do you look back on and wish you could change? When you face loss, you always will have regrets. This is true not just with the death of a loved one, but with anything in life, including the loss of your job, your home or your spouse.

The worst part of regret is that, if you don’t have any, you will never learn from your mistakes. On the other hand, if you have too many, you will always be looking behind you and never move forward. So the lesson I learned is this: when you feel regret, stop and think about what it’s trying to tell you.

I regret that, during the last conversation I had with my dad, I was too busy to stop and cherish our talk. I didn’t sit down and enjoy our conversation. Did I tell him I loved him? I don’t remember—I was in too much of a rush. So what does this tell me? That, as usual, I was being impatient and thinking about things and not people.

My regrets are unsettling. They make me doubt my future decisions and also make me aware of my many failures. Regrets are much like a Global Positioning System. They are the annoying voice reminding you that somewhere along the trip you have gotten off course. They alert us when we have gone in the wrong direction. They prod us to take a new route. We may choose to ignore the advice our regrets are offering, but that will only result in us becoming thoroughly lost. On the other hand, if we listen to our regrets, we can change our path and safely arrive at our preprogrammed destination. We all know where we want to go; the hard part is arriving at our destination. Next time the annoying voice of regret tries to speak, it’s best to listen. Chances are, you have made a wrong turn somewhere along the way.


What are your biggest regrets? What have you learned from regret?

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Loss is inevitable

There are two types of loss, and I have experienced them both. The first type involves losing touch with a person for one reason or another. This is the loss suffered from broken relationships, severed ties, damaged alliances. The other person is still living, just without you.

I felt this loss when my parents divorced. It was the first time my dad was gone. The man I knew, who gave me life, was no longer a part of mine. He had moved to Arizona searching for comfort from his own mother, sister and brother. The impact of the divorce left a crater in his heart. Who better to fill it than his children? That is what his sister hoped, when she brought us for a visit. But that is not what happened. After driving for ten hours, we saw my dad for ten minutes. At the time, I did not comprehend the depth of this loss. It wasn’t until I had my own children that I understood why my dad chose not to see us. His life was dark; it centered on alcohol, depression and hopelessness. Thankfully, this loss was temporary. After a few years, my dad found his spirit and started putting his life back together, which included seeing his children again.

The second type of loss is even more devastating, because it’s permanent. It’s the unimaginable loss of a family member. It might be a mate you have spent your life with, the person who brought you into this world or a child that was a part of you. It really doesn’t matter who it is; we all feel the same: utterly devastated. Everything in our world is thrown into to the air and, unfortunately, it never seems to land in the same spot.

The agony of loss has no limits—it’s endless. But it can still teach us a valuable lesson. This is what it has taught me: there are no guarantees in life, you may never heal, life is never what you expect, things are not always fair. Even though these realizations may seem morbid, they have changed how I view my life. They have taught me that, no matter how much it hurts, loss is inevitable.


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