How Lucky Am I?

My friend,

I wish I had the right words to comfort you, today. I wish I could say that the passing of your father was actually lucky - that it was something that would bring you joy and solace. I wish there were any words, period, to tell you how to feel and how to cope. There are none. I know that, with your father just passing away today that this is all fresh and new. But I know that, already, you know that sometimes words feel and seem empty. 

I can only tell you that I am sorry, that my heart aches for you, that I feel your pain. Literally. Hearing of the passing of your father felt like a scab was pulled off the wound that's been healing for the last 7 weeks, since we buried my own father. 

I will tell you that seeing you there, in the line leading up to my father's casket was both heart-warming and sad. I was sad we had gathered for that reason. But I felt a sense of warmth and peace that someone who had been a happy spot to my father's days, at times, was there to send their warm wishes. But I knew, even then, that you were sad about your own situation - that you were worried for your own family and the person you seem to love as much as I did my own dad. I wished, at that moment, when I hugged you standing in the front of that funeral parlor, that I could take all of your terrible feelings and keep them for you. Because I know how hard they are. I know what it's like to be terrified of and presented with the mortality of the people who gave you life. And I know how much it sucks.

I know how easy it can be to feel angry - at the situation, at the world, at the fact that other people are laughing and carrying about their day as if nothing has ever changed for them. I know how easy it would be to let yourself be overcome with a dark cloud - one that blocks out every ray of sunshine that the day can hold. 

I say all of this not to bring you down, further. But because I want you to know that it's all normal. That it's all something that is there. And there aren't words to explain your sadness or my sorrow, for you. But also because I want you to take a moment, when you have time, and think about the quote I posted above: How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard. 

I know you cared for your father very much the same way I did for mine. So I know that we were both lucky. We both had a chance to feel the amazing relationship that can come from a father and a daughter. And I had a lot of time to talk with my father about what that meant, while he was going through his journey to the end. And so I can only imagine that your father felt the same sense of happiness, joy, pride, and amazement at what a wonderful person you were - and at how much you loved and cherished him until the very end. 

I also know that we were lucky. To have the memories that we do. I was scrolling through my Facebook the other day and ran across a few gems that may remind you very much of him: 

They don't seem like much right now - little moments that you have stored in your mind's eye. I know. But in time? They will lead you to think you were lucky to have something so great that saying goodbye is so hard. And it will be hard. I can't take that away (believe me, I have looked on Etsy and Ebay - they're both sold out of the program that would enable me to do so - I'm currently on a waiting list for one), but I can tell you that I'm there. And so are all your other friends and family.

I hope that you can find some of the luck in the situation. I hope that you have the time and peace of mind to listen to all of the stories that people will tell you in the next few days. But mainly I hope that you feel a sense of peace that you were an amazing person to your father. That you spent time telling him how much you loved him and knowing that that's the best gift that you can ever give another human being. Especially one that made you such a lucky daughter. 

Love,
Denise