“There is no right or wrong way to grieve.
There are healthy and unhealthy ways to grieve.”
I am about ten weeks removed from that Friday afternoon when I got the call that my father was gone. I’m honestly still in a state of disbelief, wanting the narrative to be somehow different, wanting the ending of his story to change.
For about 18 months prior to my father’s death, I was doing the tests and work to do a kidney transplant for my father. I had gone through all the initial blood tests, x-rays, and scans to determine if I was a viable donor, and I was! I was determined to get my body in the best shape possible to offer this small token of extended life to the one who gave me life. The gesture seemed small compared to the provision, sacrifice, and love I received unconditionally in my thirty-six years.
I was eating right, exercising, and setting goals for my blood sugar and weight—ten pounds gone, another three, then five more. The weight was dropping off, and I was feeling better holistically. My parents were pleased with my progress, but my father never seemed anxious to receive the transplant.
Not more than a week before he passed, he asked me how far along in the process I was and what the next steps were. This was the first time he initiated a conversation about the transplant. I explained I had to come home to do one more test, and from there, we could set the date based on his status. His interest in knowing gave me a reason for excitement because although in our minds he wasn’t dying, the quality of life would change for him. We spoke about wanting to return to Jamaica and get in the ocean and how we would drive around the island and tell me his history. He made sure to mention that his ticket would need to be purchased by me because it was my turn to treat him. We laughed, and I told him he’d have his ticket for his birthday in November.
In the wake of my dad’s passing, I’ve battled how I will grieve. Most days, I don’t want to do anything, and I wish I could slip into the shadows and disappear. It’s hard. The health goals I achieved are slowly slipping through my fingertips, and the 44 regular suits are becoming a little snug. I’m trying to figure out how to stay consistent when my emotions are anything but predictable. I speak about my feelings, but honestly, nothing replaces getting a response from the one person who can’t.
There are no answers here… just processing.
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