Last week, Ruth Ayres invited others to write along to the prompt “Beginnings.” There was a time when I would have kept what I’ve written in my notebook. Safe from other’s eyes. Private.
Times have changed.
With my father’s death fresh in my mind, I’ve noticed that every beginning is marked by an ending. Or is it that the endings herald beginnings? Or do beginnings presage endings?
All I know is that right now, my father’s absence colors each threshold. This new year marks the first time in my life that a year won’t have him in it. On my upcoming birthday, there won’t be a card. Or a call. Updates and daily news shrivel unspoken on my lips.
I’ve always hated crying, but I’ve gotten used to it now. I’ve stopped fighting the prickling onset of tears. The slight wobble in my chin. The quiver in my lips. I accept them as part of each day. Not something to lean into. Not something to lean away from. Just something that is.
Tears will flow. Sometimes they brim and overflow, sometimes they pool and tremble, then recede. Sadness reabsorbed. Perhaps they are a beginning of sorts. First steps on a journey?
Some beginnings are haunted by endings.
Nix the comfort zone 
I am so sorry for your loss. (((HUGS)))
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Thank you.
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I, too, am so sorry for your loss. It is so tough to lose someone you love so dearly. This line is so poignant is true, “Not something to lean into. Not something to lean away from. Just something that is.’
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Thank you. Those lines feel so true to me.
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You captured my experience too–even 6 months out I find myself reaching for my phone to make that call to my dad or wondering what wine we might want to share over dinner… Phew…beginnings and endings… (Do I overuse ellipses because I don’t want to deal with endings?)
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Thanks, Kim. I’ve thought of you often over the past months. Someday I do hope we can meet in person!
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Molly, your post is so poignant and full of tears of hope. With these lines you have captured these tears so well, “I’ve stopped fighting the prickling onset of tears. The slight wobble in my chin. The quiver in my lips.” And that final sentence speaks volumes to me of sadness and of hope, as well.
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Thanks, Denise. I’m glad you felt hope in that final line.
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Molly, I am so sorry for your loss. Your words “shrivel unspoken on your lips” are quite beautiful and sad. I hope that memories of your Dad can fill you will some joy when your grief has eased a bit. Take Care.
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Thank you. I know that in time memories will bring smiles before tears, or at least along with them. Thanks for your good wishes.
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Molly, I am sorry for your sadness and loss. Your words run free like a stream of water but tinged with tears. May your memories continue to sustain you.
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Thank you, Carol.
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Molly,
Every one of us grieves in our own way. We all should know that no ones’ journey or loss is the same. But I feel your loss and want to wrap you in a huge hug sent from your dad. What a wonderful loving man he must have been. He (and your mom) raised you! I hope that in time what has happened for me, will happen for you; you will be able to have the memories come without the tears and ache…. yet and rarely now , I never know when my throat will get tight and my heart will hurt. (It’s been 16 years, so it’s always with me.) But I rejoice that I was so lucky and I never forget. The memories really do help and I hear his voice and wisdom. It makes me happy to think about him and how lucky I was and how much he loved me. Let your tears flow, it is your way of loving your dad. Maybe you might want to get a journal and write him a letter every day or dictate one on your morning walk….something to get it down as it comes to you. PS My first published poem was about him, one I wrote for a workshop I took and it was accepted in 15 min. to be an online poem of the week around Father’s Day! My friend urged me to submit and I was so nervous. But I now know he was there continuing to urge me to follow my dreams. Since I feel I know you a little, I am sharing more than I might in an effort to help. Can you tell us more about your dad or some little stories?
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Thank you so much for your sharing, Janet. My mother died 40 years ago and I can still tear up unexpectedly, but I do know that the immediate pangs of grief ebb as time passes. I appreciate your reminder of that. Thanks for your kind and thoughtful comment.
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Thank you for this post.
Oh. Grief. It’s so hard, both in those fresh days when everything feels big and awful and physically painful, AND in those smaller moments in later days that come and whomp you out of nowhere.
Beginning, ending, wherever it is, there you are. And you have a community of us sending you love and strength and resilience whenever you are feeling low. ❤
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Thank you for your lovely supportive comment, Lainie.
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I feel your words in my heart.
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Thank you.
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I hope as February begins the joy of your dad’s life with you fills some of the empty spots in your body and soul. I think that crying is good, necessary, and helpful. There are X amount of tears that need to be shed to grieve and then celebrate. Only you will know how many X is. My mom died on January 31, 2014. What I miss with her is the opportunities to call her and tell her of what’s happening in our lives and our kids’ lives. To celebrate together with her. She lived a full life till 92. I was and am very fortunate for her long full life in my life.
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Thanks, Dan. I miss those opportunities as well. Your and Hannah’s card was so beautiful and thoughtful. Thank you. (Of course it made me cry again…lol)
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