It’s been an easy going past few months dealing with my grief about my dad’s suicide. I don’t get as emotional when hearing his music play, or when looking at pictures of him. But that does not mean this is easy. It’s a complicated grief that I have grown to accept.

I still question everything. Why did he do this? I’ve blogged about this before and I will restate it again: My dad had a GREAT day before he died. He sent this letter and a book to my husband that day when my mom and dad were running errands. They had a good breakfast at their favorite restaurant. My dad told my mom not to worry about him, that he was feeling better. And then that night, in a split second, he walked to the garage where his gun safe was. Grabbed a gun and went to his bedroom, not bothering to close the safe. The last decision he made while on this Earth was a devastating, everlasting decision that would effect everyone’s lives around him. His friends (he had so many) and family members were all in shock.

I remember when my husband called me to tell me that he received the package from my dad. I had already arrived in Arizona to be with my family, dealing with the chaos of planning a funeral and helping my mom make crucial decisions. It was two days after his passing that this package arrived. Sort of ironic and was pretty sad.

Grief has become easier but it is still tough. I am at the point where I don’t think about him as much. And it saddens me. Looking back, I felt close to my dad when I went through the most awful stages of grief. A part of me wants to go back to those emotional stages so that I can feel closer to him. But I am evolving and growing through this grief.

It’s as if a tiny flower is growing from this seed of grief. A seed that I thought would have been covered it dirt and darkness with no room to grow. Roots have grown, stems and leaves have taken shape. There is light and beauty in this grief after all. 

I miss my dad so much. I am learning to live and grow without him physically here. But I do know he is with me. He is watching over me and my family. He is finally happy and free. And that brings me peace.

Hugs,

Sarah