As Graduation Season Comes to a Close…

This past Monday, June 12th, was graduation day for Classical High School’s class of 2023. Natalie should have been there. 

For the past month or so—ever since people starting posting prom and graduation photos of their happy, glowing seniors on Facebook—my grief has been feeling extra heavy and sad. 

Of course, we’ve missed many milestones over the years—from all the school “firsts” to all the “lasts” and a lot in between. But high school graduation is a biggie. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime event, the culmination of all those school years of childhood and the transition to becoming an adult. 

It’s another painful reminder she’s gone. Not that I ever need to be reminded—I think of Natalie every single day. But somehow this missed milestone stings worse than most of the others. 

I wasn’t prepared for it—it was just suddenly here. All those prom photos of other people’s kids looking so radiant and happy. All those graduation photos—most of which I haven’t even been able to bring myself to look at—feel like a punch in the gut. 

To be clear, I don’t want anyone reading this to think I bear any ill feelings toward anyone. I am truly happy for all of this year’s grads and congratulate you all on this proud and joyous achievement. But the photos did serve as a reminder of all I’m missing with Natalie, all SHE IS MISSING. It will forever break my heart. 

I’ve been struggling to write this for weeks now because part of me really doesn’t mean to rain on anyone’s parade. But another part of me is compelled to find a way to honor Natalie at what should have been her graduation, too. 

So, my message is simple. As we celebrate this year’s grads, let’s not forget the ones who didn’t make it to this day. Let’s not forget Natalie Joy. I can imagine her beaming smile and sparkle in those beautiful big brown eyes. I am forever proud of you, my sweet baby girl.

Why Are Some Years Harder Than Others?

 In two days, it will mark the 16th year since my sweet Natalie died. And I’m struggling. March sort of snuck up on me this year; it wasn’t too bad earlier in the month, but over the last week or so, my grief has been painful and raw. Even after all this time I find myself asking, Why, oh why, did my baby girl have to leave? I find myself feeling the unfairness of it in my gut and the pain of it in my heart. I find myself bursting into tears over the slightest triggers. Why are some years harder than others?

 

Obviously, I’ve been at this for a while now—16 years feels like a long time
—and I know there is a natural ebb and flow to grief. Psychologist-type people like to compare grief to an ocean where sometimes it’s peaceful and calm with a maybe few ripples here and there, and sometimes the waves are bigger and scarier, maybe even rising to the level of a tsunami. I don’t know where I’m at right now—maybe a smallish tsunami if you count March 18, 2007 as the granddaddy of tsunamis—but something about this year also feels a bit different from the normal “ebb and flow” of the waves of grief.

 

As I’ve been pondering the question about my own particular situation, the answer looms in a fairly obvious way. We as human beings don’t stay static so why should our grief?

 

As I’ve navigated some pretty major challenges over the past few years (getting a divorce being the biggie), it was necessary to put my grief away for a bit because to let it out fully would have been too much. But now things have settled down in my life and I’m in a very happy place. And now there’s room again for the grief.

 

Anyone who has lost a loved one knows that grief never goes away, but it can be put away for a while. I think that’s what I did out of necessity while I was dealing with other things. I don’t know if this attempt to psycho-analyze myself is accurate or not but it does make sense to me so I’m going with it. That means I’m embracing it full strength even though it hurts like hell. I’m embracing it because as a measure of my love for Natalie, the grief is always part of me. I’m embracing it because it means I’m happy.