karin dancy

Originally published April 2023 – reposting after disappearing mysteriously . . . .

Dad’s passing is not my first rodeo with loss and grief. I know that seasons of grief often require a certain kind of energy. Wrestling with acceptance that life has, yet again, changed significantly. Riding an unpredictable rollercoaster of emotions. Toggling between missing someone I love and having to still show up for Life each day.

It’s a lot at times, this season.

Seasons of grief are unique, yet also similar to most of Life’s seasons. They’re often complex and multidimensional. Not static, nor simple. Some last a short time; others, much longer.

The season of elder care was my norm for about 15 years, helping Dad after Mom died. Dad was an extraordinary, wonderful father all my life. It’s no wonder, then, that ensuring his daily well-being in his winter years was at the forefront of my mind and heart. Thinking of his needs, planning how to meet them, modifying the plan when his needs changed … all of that and more took up lots of space in my head and heart on a regular basis.

A special kind of call and response lived at the center of this season. Dad’s care needs called, and our village – family members, friends, care professionals –, responded alongside us, with love. The concern my siblings and I had for his safety, well-being, and dignity ruled the day. That meant being in tune with Dad, listening to what he shared and what he didn’t say. It meant staying flexible and as organized as much as possible, as his needs fluctuated. My nine-layer, color-coded Google calendar included an orange one for his medical appointments and other reminders. Text messages between my sweet sis and I about Dad’s care were many miles long.

Dad occupied a sacred space in my mind and in my heart as his primary helper in his latter years. What does Dad need today? Is he content? What can I do today to bring him joy?

With his passing, that sacred space has changed. It’s no longer filled with so much of what I miss most. Feeling his hugs. Hearing his laughter. Listening to his life stories. Watching him create beautiful artwork.

Just like my mom and brother before him, Dad will always fill a very special space in my mind and heart. For now, that sacred space is one where grief and beautiful memories sit side by side.

It’s a new season.

xoxo,
Karin