grief....and guilt

grief is such a powerful, destructive force. sometimes, i feel like i am drowning in grief, followed (thankfully) by moments of 'normalcy,' where i can breathe easily and tears are not pooling in my eyes and my heart doesn't ache. today, as i was grocery shopping at the super center, preoccupied with locating the cans of kidney beans,  i suddenly missed my father. painfully missed my father. dad had never shopped in this texas store but the items on the shelves reminded me of the grocery shopping i did back home, and the foods i would buy especially for dad. as i passed the bags of pretzels and the bottles of blue gatorade,  i wanted to cry. dad and i would never polish off a huge plate of steamed clams again. i would never bake him another pan of mincemeat squares. we would never share another jug of apple cider.

i studied the other shoppers, looking for signs of  tragedy. death is inevitable. there are heart attacks and cancers and catastrophic diseases happening every second. my father's heart attack on sunday thrust me into the ranks of the walking wounded...those grieving, tortured souls who have had the carpet pulled out from under them, with the death of a loved one.  but grief is a private affair. it is hidden behind dark glasses and strained smiles.  and life goes on.

but just when you think you have mastered grief, guilt appears. and guilt shows no mercy. it causes you to second guess everything you ever did, ever said to your loved one. you should have been more thoughtful. you could have spent more time together. you might have saved them. or soothed them. or spared them some pain.

the last time i saw my father, we were saying goodbye and i was returning to texas. he thanked me (for his 90th birthay party? for being the daughter i was...flawed but devoted?)  and i told him i loved him (i meant 'thank you for being such a wonderful dad') and i left. i never said what i should have said. guilt. guilt. guilt. i expected to see dad in may, to celebrate my parents' anniversary. those plans  changed in the blink of an eye on sunday morning.

here's the deal: nobody can orchestrate the perfect goodbye. death hurts and grief (and guilt) happen. there are no do-overs and the most i can hope for is that my father understood that life with him in it was the best and that life without him is painful. but that rediscovering the joy in life is the best compliment i can ever pay him.