Mid-July Reflections
Mid July I always feel I am in the groove of sweet summer. The ocean and the way the waves crash against the rocky beaches of Connecticut and those vibrant sunsets that sizzle into a citronella and firefly nights are my favorite. If only I could bottle that intangible magic up.
My dad introduced me to the ocean and invited me to love it as much as he did. I spent 10 summers with him and my brothers down by Mansfield Cove, building sandcastles, swimming, genuinely soaking in what felt like a season of endless sunshine and innocent adventure.
There’s something particularly cruel about losing someone you love in the summer – the summer is a roaring reminder of life. The laughter and splashes of children at the pool, the bright romantic blues and magical purples of hydrangea, the scent of honeysuckle. I still remember overhearing my mom getting that call my father died. I didn’t even know he was sick, I didn’t know he had leukemia for the past 2 weeks. I remember the softness of her bed and how I used to love dressing up in her jewelry and dresses but all of a sudden her room felt like a cage and I had no way to crawl out of what I just heard. I could barely move from her bed let alone my own mind.
The thing with grief is…. sure therapy helps. And sure, time helps. But for me it’s been a journey. I was so angry for so long until I gave way to the sadness. When I could finally identify the trauma of losing my beloved dad I could start loving myself again. I could allow myself to cry. I could write. I could feel my feelings. I ran from it for so long and walked through the briar and fire of grief to come to the other side. I understood the power of Faith and to rest in it. To rest in Grace. To understand I didn’t have to run from it or self-destruct my whole life because of the pain, I could turn into my testimony and my power to do better, to build my own legacy and honor my father’s.
There’s no handbook in this. Grief was sharp and vibrant like those July sunsets of scarlet and tangerine and over time, over constantly checking in with yourself it begins to be more subtle like pastel skies. It’s still there but not as bold and attention-grabbing. It’s still there like small waves and seashells but it’s not as painful and cutting. I’ve learned to rest in my memories of being under the sunshine on a beach with my dad, laughing. That’s how I picture Heaven. Until I see you again, I miss you. I love you.
