“Grief is a process of awareness, of making real inside the self an event that already occurred in reality outside.”  ~Parkes and Weiss

Last year, I started a new project called the December Daily.  It documents the 25 days to Christmas.  Mark had bought me a new camera for Mother’s Day of 2010 and I wanted to learn more about photography.  I had taken an on-line course that inspired me with daily prompts and photo tips.  I had also (still am) been following a blog by Ali Edwards, which is about creating and story-telling with her photos (check her out here:Ali Edwards website). I absolutely loved how the book turned out!

Inspired by that joy and a renewed desire to document our life, I began a year-long project called Project Life by Becky Higgins (see her website here: Becky Higgins’ Project Life).  By early June, I fell behind in actually getting the photos printed and into the book, but I tried to stay true to documenting our every day life–trying to take pictures every week of what was going on.  For those who had been following my dad’s battle with cancer, these projects are what motivated me to take as many pictures, both happy and painful, of my dad and our last moments with him.  It is also what made me realize that sharing those photos would bring him closer to you.

My dad passed away on October 14th…and while I tried to stay true to photographing our life, by mid-November, I found myself no longer wanting to document anything.  My cameras became quiet.  I took a few pictures but not with the same eye, not with the same heart.  Around the same time, my grandmother–my dad’s mom–broke her hip and in a late evening phone call, an aunt asked me how we were all doing.  She shared with me that it wasn’t until six weeks after her mom passed that she was truly overcome by grief.  Later, I wondered, as I fell asleep, if that might be true for myself…had my grief really arrived?

“The risk of love is loss, and the price of loss is grief–But the pain of grief is only a shadow when compared with the pain of never risking love.”  ~Hilary Stanton Bruin

You see, I am really sad and have had lots of moments of tears and missing my dad, but often things feel like they are returning to normal.  Our routine is slowly falling back in line.  Thanksgiving and Christmas are marching forward.  Toys are being dropped off, sorting is taking place, and time is steadily, sometimes quickly, moving forward.

“The cure for grief is motion.”  ~Elbert Hubbard

It wasn’t until yesterday that I fully realized that grief had truly arrived.  I was looking at my December Daily book and couldn’t think of what to put in it for December 2nd.  You see, I am already behind, which I don’t like to be, but it was in that moment of reflection that I realized I wasn’t taking pictures regularly…even knowing that I am committed to documenting this December.  As I thought of the 2nd, I couldn’t see anything that I wanted to share.  The day had been uneventful (not that only eventful stories need to be shared!) and the evening…well, it wasn’t pretty…

On the evening of December 2nd, actually all day, I had been feeling this stress build within myself.  I have a small work station set up in our den where I can make jewelry like my dad once did.  In it is a table, my supplies and tools.  At my prodding, Leo, my brother-in-law, had given me several pieces of vintage silverware that were awaiting beads and jewels so that they could come become beautiful bracelets.  We had a major show, actually two, the next day and those beads, those bands were still waiting.

I spent the better part of the day focused on school, cleaning, baking and everything else, telling myself that though I needed to get to them, I would.  I ignored the fact that I was dancing around the need to finish them. Ah, but sometimes we can’t see when we are living in avoidance!  By the time Mark got home, I was itching with irritability (as a wise old friend once described herself).  We were chatting about the next day and after a phone call with an unexpected expectation being placed on us, we began to argue.  Yes, we do argue…despite how much we love one another.

This argument, though, seemed to take on something more.  Maybe it was all those bottled up moments since my dad had passed, the cursory explanations, and unclear communications.  Before I knew it, I was in tears and he was quite upset.  In order to escape that discomfort, I eventually retreated to our den–knowing that the time had come where I couldn’t procrastinate anymore.  As I picked up the silverware and began to work on making the jewelry, in my memory, I began to see my father’s hands next to me.  I slowly began to realize why I had been avoiding this place.

“Tears have a wisdom all their own.  They come when a person has relaxed enough to let go and to work through his sorrow.  They are the natural bleeding of an emotional wound, carrying the poison out of the system.  Here lies the road to recovery.”  ~F. Alexander Magoun

You see, in the last month before he passed, I would sit with him at his work station…often just him and I, though others were always near.  Sometimes it was just sitting there helping him put together bead arrangements.  Other times, I would work on my computer alongside him as he worked on his jewelry.  Eventually, as he grew weaker, I asked him to show me how he made them.  Part of me wanted to share in his joy and happiness in making that jewelry, while the other part of me wanted to give him the gift of being able to share his new found passion and interest with another.  We rejoiced when I finally figured it out and held a finished bracelet in my hands.  On December 2nd, in my mind’s eye, I could see his hands bending the wire, hear his words quietly instructing me in my heart…and it was too much.

“Man could not live life if he was entirely impervious to sadness.  Many sorrows can be endured only be being embraced and the pleasure taken in them naturally has a somewhat melancholy character.”  ~Emil Durkheim

In an instant, I recognized why I had been avoiding that room for weeks.  I began to understand that the stress I was feeling was not because of all that was undone or even that argument, it was the grief that was overcoming me.  The realization that his death, his passing, the pain…it was finally settling in.  My tears turned into sobs as I finally stopped wrestling with it…as my heart began to take down the barricades that I had thrown up to try to prevent the sorrow from coming in.

“She was no longer wrestling with grief, but could sit down with it as a lasting companion and make it a sharer in her thoughts.”  ~George Eliot

As I sat there yesterday afternoon, I realized that this year no matter how many times we smile, no matter how wonderful the beautiful music or fun the presents, no matter how many loved ones we are blessed to celebrate Christmas with, this Christmas is a time of mourning for us, for me.  In that moment, I realized that I did have something that I wanted to remember for December 2nd, 2011:  I had finally allowed grief to come in.

“Don’t be afraid to cry.  It will free your mind of sorrowful thoughts.”  ~Hopi saying

Looking for something to begin with for that day, I found a tub of Christmas tags.  I had popped off the lid and pulled out a green tag, and to my surprise, it said “greetings”.  For some reason, it felt right.  It hit me then that I have a choice on how to greet my grief…with a willing heart and an open mind or with a shovel and some dirt.  That if I truly trust God with my life, I must trust Him with experiencing grief even in its heaviness and most painful moments.  My dance of denial and weak efforts to sweep it under the rug are not trust–not trusting in Him or in who He has made (and is making) me to be–they are just disguised efforts to control by avoidance that which can’t be stopped.  To live life to its fullest, I want to greet grief with the trust that it is here for a reason and will only stay as long as necessary.  To understand and remember that I don’t want the busyness of life, in all its normalcy, to numb me to the pain I must deal with–that I am suppose to deal with.  I don’t want this Christmas to be about finding a “new normal” just yet…for the moment, I just want to truly and deeply miss him, his smile, and his love for Christmas.  I want to truly experience these moments for what they are, trusting that in being present in this season of mourning, a greater joy will one day return.

“Sorrow comes to all…perfect relief is not possible, except with time.  You cannot realize that you will ever feel better, and yet you are sure to be happy again.”  ~Abraham Lincoln