365 without You.

It took me exactly 365 days to visit my father's grave. The anniversary of his death, though exactly one year ago, replays in my mind so fresh it feels like yesterday. I've heard and read there are stages to grief. Lots of people offering up advice, doctors quantifying how and for now long should mourn. I can say with confidence it's all bs.

This has been life-altering. And yet the battle and struggles have mostly been silent. Truthfully I was fully unprepared to lose my father in the way that I did. Literally overnight. In the wake of COVID, one might find themselves more prepared for death but surprisingly that never knocked on our door. His death was quiet, unassuming and under the radar much like him. No fireworks or big to do, we just woke up on April 26, 2021, and he was gone. And truthfully I'm still not sure how I feel about it.

The process of grief has been challenging. On the one hand, losing one of the coolest dudes on the planet feels like a blow to your entire being. Every single thing you do falls in the before and after of your loved one. My father, my mother, and I were like a boxed set. Each piece was vital to the story before it and the ending wasn't complete without us all. We did everything together. I am the only child people swear they hate but also are kind of jealous of. Together we were unstoppable. Hilarious. And solid. So one might imagine outside of how it all went down that morning, a year ago, life now is just weird.

There are things I once looked forward to in life that seem less exciting knowing he won't be there. Big life moments, weddings, and children all feel uninspired without my dad's jokes and input. The promotion I’d been waiting for is less exciting knowing he'll never see the new place. Life is less without him here. I am less without him here.

The grief itself comes in waves. Sometimes I'm two hours late to work because I simply can't bear to face the world without him in it. Other days I speak about him as if he's sitting at home at that very moment watching TMZ. Other times I hate myself for letting almost letting a full day go by without thinking of him. While other days my car becomes my silent therapist catching the words I wish I would have said. There are times when I crack myself up thinking of how he may have cracked a joke at something. Or I'm smiling to myself thinking of him singing one more time. But most days, I'm just ok. And I'm realizing now, 365 days later that THAT in and of itself is an accomplishment.

Then I think of her. And I am amazed that in my father's absence, I am still blessed to have a mother who is solid beyond anything I could ever hope to be. Their love was something people write books about. Not because it was a fairytale, but because it was tangible, secure, smart, and so so deep. My father has left us both in a position of security that only comes when you and your wife are partners who took time the whole "till death do us part" very seriously. She will never need a thing in this life. As a child his financial talks bored me, as an adult I see what the effects of a partnership really look like. Somehow he's loving her even more now...

On the other end of all this, I can't help but think of how disappointing grief has been. It's not in the medical journals about grief. I know we live in a world of trending topics and momentary care and attention but sometimes I wonder if even a year is enough time. The realization of being the girl whose dad died turned from sympathy to cold abruptly. It’s amazing how quickly your phone stops ringing. How distant your friends become. How little you’re comforted when the story no longer serves the audience. At first, you feel overwhelmed with love. People are exhausting themselves to reach out. Folks who you haven’t heard from for years fill you with prayers and well wishes. When they come back into your life, you feel special because the love is tangible. Then, it suddenly… it just stops. You stop getting invited to things and people don't check in on you. Your phone goes silent and you are now an outsider in the spaces and places you once thrived in. And when you do talk you're expected to be the version of yourself you once were. And when you arent people don't understand that. It’s like they love you less because you have less of yourself to give. They shade you if you don't do enough, fault you for not taking on their problems as you once did, scold you if you aren't the version of yourself they prefer, ghost you, claim you aren't happy enough and drop nuggets of drama at your feet you couldn't bear to have the time or energy to deal with.

Foolishly I thought that the years of me always “being there” would cash out like tokens at Chuck E. Cheese when I finally needed them the way they’ve needed me. But I was wrong… Life isn’t filled with gold coins to be cashed in for tickets and prizes.

But mostly they remind you that everyone is going through "stuff" and your stuff isn’t special.

And honestly, they are right. Completely. 365 days later and I can admit that I am different. I do not fault them for living their lives without me. I have changed. One-half of my heartbeat is gone so yes I am not the same as I was but I am still me. A new, not improved but different version of Kim has emerged and she still has so much love to give, ears to hear it all, and advice to offer like pearls of uneducated wisdom. But she also cries ALOT more, has trouble getting out of bed at times, has to excuse herself from what feels like an occasional panic attack, and misses her dad a lot. A part of me thought my superhuman black girl magic power would bust through all of this and allow me to be everything to everyone like I've always been but I've realized that even I need time. My cup, which has always run deep for those I care about, has lost a source of what keeps it filled. I'm learning to fill it in from other places but maybe all of you can be that for me. I realize how I miss the little things. The community I made over the years of my life feels like a distant memory of happier times... I miss my friends, laughing with them, doing things with them, being with them.

This is the mourning that they don't write about. The one where you not only lost a loved one but your everyday life is just different. It's tough... But I imagine in a world with so much uncertainty and loss that finding your footing after hard times is part of the journey. I'm hopeful that my next 365 will become lighter, easier, and filled with more of what and WHO makes me feel loved on my hardest days.

I miss them every day as this feels like an added side effect to the grief I was never ready for. Death is a thief of everything you once knew, and the depths of its cloud are so much wider than the person you lost..
It’s the feeling of being less of who you were without them. The feeling of losing your grip on the other things that made you feel most like yourself. And the balance of trying to manage each day to get back to yourself…

But there is still one thing grief has taught me.

The last thing I want to say is that grief has made me so so thankful. This has been an unimaginable time of my life but I am so thankful that I am even in a place to talk and write about it. I am thankful for long rehearsals that keep my mind occupied. Thankful to the community that wrapped their arms around my mother. Thankful to the people who drove to me met me for lunch and came to my house to check on me. Thankful for the people who text me even when I could respond and have never missed a holiday without wishing me well. Thankful for a job that stresses me out but also keeps me laughing. I'm thankful for my childhood, college & church fam that wrapped their arms around me, after all, that time apart. I'm thankful for alone time and movies by myself and books to read. I'm thankful for my mom being here with me, loving me while losing the most important person in her life. I'm thankful for my family and the way loss has made us stronger. I'm thankful for those who really really look out for me. I'm thankful for those who ask how I'm doing and mean it, even when I have nothing but a practiced smile and "I'm good" for a reply. I'm thankful for those who never asked anything from me, who let me live, ups and downs and all. I am thankful for those who make a choice to still SEE me when I feel like I am less worthy to be seen.

I'm thankful for grace, for having it, for feeling it, and for knowing how important it is.

But mostly I'm thankful for him. My dad was a quiet man. But filled with so much wisdom, understanding, humor, and love. I will never not miss him, and I will never not be sad but I am always going to be so thankful for the time we had. There is no part of me that he did not influence and my world is so much less bright without him. I hate that I didn't tell him enough, but I hope he knows how much I loved him.

I went to his gravesite today for the first time and cried like a baby. It was the first time I've ever wept to the point of being uncomfortable. It took 365 days to do that and for the first time in a long time, I was proud of myself. These are the milestone they don't write in books...

Here's to the next 365 days without you. May I never lose the feeling of you right by my side.

I love you.