Dear Dad… #1…

There are so many things I wanted to discuss with my dad, or should have. I talk to Dad often- mainly in my head and in my prayers, but I decided I wanted to write Dad letters instead so here we go.

Dear Dad,

One topic we never discussed was Grief. I believe I understand why we didn’t discuss grief, mainly because so many of us avoid it as much as possible–that is, until it hits us right smack in the face. Actually, I think grief chooses its time to grab us. While on a beautiful, sunny walk, something hits me from the front, knocking me backward, while something else grabs the achylis tendon with a fierce grip, causing me to try to catch myself from falling, all while holding my breath.

When my grandparents each died, I don’t remember your emotions or anyone else’s, actually. I am sure you felt something when they each died. I remember being awakened on September 11th, 2000, about 6:30 am by a call from you telling me Grandaddy died. I think I responded, “No, you mean Nana did.” I said that because she was in the hospital, not doing well. It was a shock. I was not expecting to hear that news. My husband, Ken, and two-year-old son, Jake, had only been living in Birmingham for a couple of months at this point, and Maxie was not even on the scene yet.

I was not close to my grandparents, your parents, and Dad, mainly because they were not close to me. I am sure they loved me in their own way, but I never felt chosen by them. I was the only granddaughter, and I was overlooked. I didn’t really notice this until I was older. At the root of it all, I believe it was because I (we) didn’t attend the same church, rather the same denomination as them. That hurt me as a child. In the church where I was reared, and in our household, I grew up believing that it doesn’t matter where you attend church, whether within a four-walled building or on a mountainside, we are all loved by God. So, how can I grow up feeling that my grandparents believed my immediate family would be going to Hell because we don’t attend THE church? How can one be so caught up in their religion that they lose sight of Jesus’ teachings and his power of love, kindness, and empathy?

So, when Grandaddy died, I was not quite sure how to feel. As a young adult, I remember being at my grandparents’ house at some family gathering. I can’t remember if Ken and I were married or if he was even in the picture yet. I saw my grandfather hug my cousin’s wife and say, “You are my most favorite granddaughter.” I was devastated! I am the only granddaughter! I think that’s when my eyes were truly open. I was not part of the “chosen ones.” My cousin was part of the “chosen ones.” I always liked my cousin growing up, but never realized he was the “chosen one” until I was an adult. Why was he the “chosen one”? Well, they believed he would be a preacher in their church denomination one day. This, in their minds, was the ultimate success for a head of family to have, and a measure of how well he had led his family. You’d think I would have anger or even hatred for this cousin, but instead, I absolutely adore him– at least as a seasoned adult I do. I never dreamed what it was like to be in his shoes, with what was said or even the unsaid pressure on him. What’s funny is that in some ways, they were right about him. He has been an accomplished author, archeologist, professor of religious studies, and an Anglican Priest. When I do get to visit with him, we always have such enriching conversations about books, spiritual life, etc. Dad, not a time goes by when he and I visit and talk about you, that he doesn’t tear up. He adored you and looked up to you. I had no idea. He carries the grief with him as well with your being gone.

When I have had conversations with this cousin since I lost you, I have realized that life for him with your parents, and even his own parents, was very difficult too. I find it fascinating that, as children, we don’t notice these things, or choose not to. The pressures on him were enormous, and I had no idea. I just thought about myself and how my grandparents made me feel alone.

Nana survived another five years. None of us would have dreamed that. I talked a lot to God during these years. I tried visiting her. I had nothing to say to her. She had nothing to say to me. I know she was an introvert, and Granddaddy, the head of the household, did all the talking for her. I really know little about her. She was kind enough and pleasant, but I never felt welcomed or accepted as a kid. I am sure they loved me, but I bet they would have loved me more if I had attended the church with them. I think this was all of my mom’s fault in their eyes because she took us to her church.

Religion is a funny thing. We each find our faith, and our church family, possibly, and often, we believe our way is the right way. I don’t necessarily believe that, but I do love the Episcopal Church because we allow deep thinking, questions, and comfort with disbelief and uncertainty.

Death, the preparation for death, or the discomfort of addressing death, is not widely discussed by many. Why is death so hard to talk about? Did you think about it, Dad, as you got older? Did you think about it more after you lost your parents or friends? We are all keenly aware that we won’t live forever. We also know that we are probably never ready to go and let go when it is our time, or our loved one’s time.

The thought of death is all based on fear. The fear of the dying process and how painful it might be for our loved ones or us. The fear of the transition into whatever comes next. The fear of what we will be leaving behind and missing out on aka, FOMO. The fear of how others left behind will be emotionally gone with us. Will I go to Heaven or Hell? Is there a Heaven and Hell? After reading Paradise Lost, an “Epic Poem” by John Milton, I have thought a lot about Heaven and Hell. Throughout Milton’s poem, readers realize he’s grasping for answers through his philosophical and theological thinking as he questions good, evil, sin, moral responsibility, and predestination. (I highly recommend reading this. To learn more, look here:https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paradise_Lost. Dad, did you ever read this? I can’t remember. I know we talked about it while I was reading this for my UAB class during the spring of 2023.

Milton was obsessed with social justice, and he tried to navigate it through the lens of his writings and characters. Tragically, Milton lost his vision during his late 20’s and orally wrote while his daughter or someone else transcribed them for him. Later, he suffered other health issues and lost his wife and child. In some of my class notes, I wrote that people in the American Revolution read Paradise Lost to help them understand and make sense of their own liberty as they grappled with it. Maybe his obsession with life and death came out of his own heartbreaks and fears of living and dying. The death of others changes us. We become keenly aware of the vulnerability and how quickly life can change.

Frederick Buechner wrote:

“When you remember me, it means you have carried something of who I am with you, that I have left some mark of who I am on who you are. It means that you can summon me back to your mind even though countless years and miles may stand between us. It means that if we meet again, you will know me. It means that even after I died, you can still see my face and hear my voice and speak to me in your heart.”

Dad, I didn’t know this quote by Buechner before you died, but I discovered it while preparing to lead a retreat on “Weaving Joy and Grief through our lives- Nurturing ourselves through Prayer, Journaling, and Lectio Divina. I don’t know if you had shared with me or if I had stumbled upon it before you died, but it would sit with me and impact me the way it does now.

There’s no doubt you left a mark on me. There’s no doubt that I don’t think of you or talk to you daily. After you died, I started searching for voicemails from you. I couldn’t find any–then I discovered a feature of “deleted voicemails” that were not actually deleted. I screen-recorded them so I would not lose your voice. None of them was profound, but they were your voice. I swear I will never forget your voice, but one day I know it will fade away in my mind. I am grateful that we have videos and live photos where we can still hear your voice.

Dad, I, along with the rest of our family, am still in disbelief that you are gone. None of us was prepared. Despite your being 84, none of us were prepared. We have all handled our grief as best we could. It’s been a journey.

After we lose someone, there is so much paperwork and planning to do. Why does this all have to happen so fast? Maybe it is to distract us from all of the grief that will inevitably be dumped on us, taking us to our knees. Maybe it is to ensure we keep moving forward with life. That is difficult, but we have no choice.

In light of losing you, would you have talked more about your grief of losing your parents or friends along the way? Would you prepare us in any way for the emotions we’d feel? Would you have any idea the impact you made on so many in your life, not just your own family? Sometimes I speak to someone, and as they talk about you, tears well up in their eyes and their throats close. It’s heartbreaking and beautiful in one moment.

I never know when grief will hit. Mom and I took flowers to your grave the day before Easter. I was fine at your grave. I think it’s because Mom was there, and it took away from that private moment I like when I am alone there. But when I took her back home, I started talking about how I still can’t believe it and how unprepared we all were to say goodbye. The tears streamed so easily then. I have been talking about this for a while now, but I plan to get a simple bench with “Isom” engraved on it to put my your marker, and then I want to plant a tree. I know you’d love it. I loathe your maker- it’s too simple and flat on the ground. You need something more grand– a bench and a tree for shade will be a perfect spot. I can come, sit, talk to you, say my prayers, journal, or even read a book. You’d love that.

So, grief takes many forms and affects each of us differently. But never mistake the impact your life made on us.

Dad, I will never stop looking for signs from you, and I will never let the void in my heart fill. You will always be there.

Until I write next time, I love you always.

Natalie