It was 4:08 pm Pacific Time on December 31st, 2024. I picked up a phone to see the Happy New Year messages rolling in from other parts of the world. One message from one of my dear friends in Melbourne, Australia, caught my attention. She sent a selfie of herself and her dear husband. They were cooking breakfast for the new year already, they said, with a big smile on their face. This message made me burst into tears and laughter at the same time.
2024 was a heartbreaking year. In May, my younger brother got involved in some unfortunate events and is now serving his time in jail. In August, My dad’s cancer came back from remission for the fourth time. He went into the chemotherapy with a high hope but he died after three months. My brother never got to see my dad for his last moments.
Death is inevitable in principle for all of us but I didn’t expect that to happen so fast, so quickly, for my dad. His death felt so surreal. It’s my dad. What do you mean he’s gone? He’s been there since day one of my life. I couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of this, when I had to utter that fact to proceed with his funeral and to sort out many other administrative stuff after his death. “I am here to get the death certificate because my father died yesterday,” “I was told to submit this certificate here so that I can make reservation for my father’s cremation,” “I need to change the automatic payment account because my father died a week ago.” Repeating these words over and over, I felt dislocated. It made sense why we say we “lost” someone when they die. I lost my dad.
“Time will heal,” they say. I know. That’s what I used to say to those who lost their loved ones, until I lost mine. I vow that I never say this anyone though. Time only makes the sharp pain we feel from losing our loved ones a little dull. It doesn’t heal. Grief, in fact, is not something to heal from; it’s a new way to make relationship with our loved ones.
The grief therapist, Francis Weller, wrote in this beautiful book, The Wild Edge of Sorrow:
“We face many little deaths in our lifetime — a friendship ends, a business venture folds, or the inevitable changes we encounter in our aging body. What is key is how we choose to respond to them. Sometimes our choices reinforce a small life. At other times, by letting an old pattern die, we enter into a larger encounter with being alive. This ongoing ritual of shedding outworn skins, of being remade time and again, is an ancient understanding most notably witnessed in the work of initiation.
Loss and grief are an initiation into a changed landscape, reminding us that everything is passing. By dying before we die, we are able to accept this fact and embrace this amazing chance we have to be alive.”
Weller explains that “By dying before we die” means that we must become radically honest with ourselves. “We must shed the skins that do not foster aliveness,” he says.
Grieving for my brother and my dad has been like walking underground in darkness, with no hope for light for days. I knew I was not the only one grieving in this world, but I didn’t see anyone in this underworld of mine: utter loneliness. When I finally confided to a few people I knew who lost their loved ones, I understood that so many of us were also grieving, walking their own underworld in complete darkness alone. It was as if I discovered a new dimension of life that was invisible to me through grief. It was some sort of an initiation, like Weller wrote.
The one simple truth I became radically clear with grieving is, ironically, love. I am grieving the imprisonment of my brother and death of my dad because I love them both so much. We grieve, because we love. And although it felt alone, I wasn’t alone at all going through this grief, either. My loving husband and other family members, and my close friends were holding me through it all with their love. They wept with me, listened to me deeply, and were simply present through it all. They loved me and I felt it so vividly in my bone. We love, in spite that it may break our heart someday. If not, what’s the option? What are we here for, if not love?
That joyous full love in the selfie from my dearest friend made me cry. I don’t regret I loved my dad so much. He wasn’t a perfect person but he was a loving dad to me. He’s gone now but my relationship with him continues through this grief. It’s sad but it’s not bad. Knowing this new dimension of life, I feel more courageous with love.
No matter what, just love. Nevertheless, just love them to death.
This is my new resolution — forever.
