I will never be “done” grieving the loss of my Dad.

I have heard it all.
“He is in a better place”

“You should just be happy he isn’t in pain anymore.”

“God took him because he needed another angel.”

I have heard it all.

I know it all.

I know my Dad is up in heaven, pain free, and I know that everything happens for a reason. But I also know I will never be done grieving the loss of my Dad.

I recently moved out of the house that I grew up in.

The house that my Father passed away in.

I was constantly being told that I needed to get over everything. That the house was just a house. One person even had the audacity to tell me that it was “silly of me to get so attached to a house that I knew I wouldn’t live in my whole life”.

Here is the thing though. I lost my Dad at the age of nine. And I am not saying that so I can have a bunch of people throw a pity party for me but more so that people can understand that for a nine year old to loose their Dad with only memories of him being sick they are going to attach to material things.

I attached to my house.

The same house that my brother and I would serve communion in on the Sundays that the family didn’t make it to church.

The same house were ‘Pipers night before Christmas’ was read every Christmas Eve.

The same house that was flooded with family and friends after the funeral.

I am not going to “unattach” myself from my house.

I am not going to stop wearing the t-shirt my dad wore to bed just because it has holes in it.

I am not going to change my screensaver from the picture of my dad and I when I was just a little baby.

I am grieving. I am doing it my own way, and I am doing it in a healthy way given the amount of time since he passed.

So please do not tell me that he is in a better place. I know that.

And please do not tell me that I should just be grateful for the time I got. I am.  I still wish I had more.

I am doing it my own way. I have been doing it my own way for seven years and I am doing alright.

So please. I beg you. Do not tell me I need to be “done” grieving the loss of my Dad. 

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