My girls have lost their Dad. This is a delicate family event to share, and I do so cautiously and with deep love.
It’s not always easy, or rather, it does not always feel genuine and honest, to tell my children that everything’s going to be ok. Because life is as filled with awful shock and devastation as it is with unbridled joy, relief, and peace. The world will abuse them and injure them as much as it will love and nourish them, body and soul. Life will take from them some precious gifts, and it will give others. That’s just how it is.
I personally believe that Light does overcome the darkness, that Love does have the final word, but sometimes it’s quite a battle. Sometimes it requires a lot of mindful choosing to see the best, a lot of trusting the Universe, and a lot of just plain waiting. Enduring. Allowing.
I am 46 years old and have only recently learned that the darkest valleys tend to be signals that something of unprecedented brilliance and beauty is coming; but I realize that this is a lesson best learned through experience, not one that can be taught with words and platitudes, exactly.
Almost three weeks ago, my girls lost their Dad. On a Thursday, after saying his goodbyes to each of them, he took his own life. This is a choice I cannot comprehend. It is a loss they will bear forever, which they do not deserve and to which I cannot relate.
More than ever, these stories are theirs to tell, not mine. He and I only shared a few years together, and it was a very long time ago. My heart goes out to his parents and brothers, and everyone he left behind, night and day. I cannot fathom this kind of pain.
Our singular hope and intention is to remain steadfast, open, warm and safe for whatever my children need going forward. Their health, healing, and forward movement into fully realized lives is all we want. If our family crosses your mind, I hope you will say prayers for the girls and for their stepbrother. I trust you will send your most loving thoughts.
My heart remains convinced, persuaded, that even the worst and most complex grief can be transformed. I know that saying everything is going to be alright is a bit empty right now, hollow sounding; because it’s definitely not ok yet. I also know that the most painful moments are exactly when we must choose to believe in miracles and fuel hope. Not just for ourselves, but for each other.