I am now convinced that along with all the expected ailments that accompany the aging process, there is another burden to bare, perhaps more profound than the bunions and fragile bones: a grieving heart. Dad was incredibly fun to be around, with a sharp wit and constant upbeat spirit. But as I mentioned in a previous post, I sometimes noted in him a heart of sadness. In his latter years, tears came quickly when he'd discuss the past, his Dad, or thoughts of heaven. I'd often think it peculiar that this strong and powerful man could become weepy within moments of a conversation shift towards a subject that tugged at him.
But since his passing, the raw display of emotion is something I've begun to understand. Seems to me that growing older forces you to play the memory game quite often. As the winter season of life approaches, I'd imagine that thoughts routinely return to those wondrous years of first loves, young kids, effortless health, and summers in Wisconsin. It's like a perfect fall afternoon coming to an end, or realizing all the gifts have been opened. This must create an innate and chronic grief, a pain that the years are now long since past, and life's end is pending. I suspect this was the pain I saw in his brilliant blue eyes every so often: the loss of the past.
He felt sad that things were changing; that his favorite years -- those as a father of young kids -- were far gone now. What it must feel like to have your "life view" always looking back rather than forward! It was a weight on his back, and every once in a while, I could see the strain of it.
It was my birthday this past week, and it was a day that revealed his absence all over again. Dad was not there to wish me a happy birthday, and it weighed upon me; it filled my heart with (at times) crippling, lose-your-breath sadness. And profoundly, it made me even more in touch with how his aging carried with it a chronic grief all its own.
I moved from that day with a heart just a little heavier, a spirit just a touch more broken, and a longing for days and relationships gone by just a little more distracting. And in a sense, it made me more like him. Now it's my turn: my heart that hurts (like his did), my dreams of the past that play in my mind (like his did); my tears of grief of days gone by (like his were). How profound that with his absence my understanding of him only deepens.
I think about him in Heaven quite often, and I try and picture his face, his calm spirit, and how he's spending all those lazy days. I see his face free of the pain and sadness; his heart is filled up and renewed, his body strong and able. The troubled soul that grieved the past is no more. The picture accompanying this entry was taken of Dad just a few months before he died. It shows him in one of his most favorite places, and in it, I can see a glimpse of him now. Look at his face. He has a twinkle in his eye, and it makes me wonder if at that moment he had a sudden awareness that coming soon he'd experience freedom from the weight of all those 76 years. I smile knowing all is finally well with his soul.
