Letting memories drive passion, not stall it.
February 12, 2017
I’m pushing on through the muck. What is muck? For me, today, muck means “feelings.” Sometimes they hold you back, sometimes they can really mess with you, they can mess with your ability to function, and they can mess with your ability to move on.
Last weekend I took a break from blogging – for various reasons: There was the Superbowl, which was a very entertaining game, and we got quite a bit of snow, which was a huge distraction by itself, and I was taking it easy due to a back injury, so I didn’t spend a whole lot of time on the computer.
Taking a break is good sometimes.
I think we can all agree on that.
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| Me & my Dad |
Today I could be taking a break again, for other reasons, this time more personal. It’s my Dad’s birthday today, but he’s not here to celebrate this special day with us, which only leads me down memory lane about why he’s gone and the fact that he’s been gone now for two years.
Grief is a funny thing – not really – but there’s the fact that it doesn’t matter what the books, or blogs or good doctors tell you, the one true fact is that it is not a one-size-fits-all and you just have to remember that everyone deals with grief in their own way. You should never compare yourself to others when it comes to how you’re dealing with your grief. And you should never apologize for it.
Today, instead of keeping my mind completely in memory lane, I’m going to push on through the muck of my feelings and forge ahead with what I would normally do.
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| A day at the beach |
My main reason for this thought-process is due to one thing: it’s what my Dad would want me to do. Why is today any different than yesterday? Just because it’s his birthday? I thought about him just as much yesterday as I have today, but I was still able to write 1,800 words yesterday. I know that if I don’t work on my book, it’s not going to be completed, and if my Dad could relay a message to me, I’m fairly certain he would be upset with me if his death were the reason for my lack of progress.
Maybe this means I’ve finally moved on to the fifth stage of grief: acceptance. Too bad actually getting through all the stages of grief doesn’t actually mean you feel like you’re done with it.
But what it really means is that to live fully, you have to live in the moment, not in the past. My Dad and my memories of him will always be a part of me and my daily life. I don’t wish for my memories of him to fade, not ever, so I won’t let those memories stall me or excuse me from doing what I love. Instead, I’ll keep my memories intact and let them drive my passion because I know that he’ll be proud of whatever I accomplish in life.
For that is the only gift I can give him now that he’s gone.
Happy Birthday, Dad.
