I keep learning something new about grief. It’s not just mine I’m carrying right now…It’s dad’s too.
I’m the caretaker. So most days, I’m not just working through my own loss. I’m walking through his. Both at the same time. That’s a heavier load than I expected, if I’m honest. It’s hard.
GriefShare helps.
Dad is now attending 3 weekly sessions of GriefShare. Some weeks it helps more than others. Some weeks he just sits in the car after, not talking. Some weeks he comes home, full of things he wants to share. But he goes, and it’s helping him. And it’s giving me a break from the heavy. Grief isn’t something you’re supposed to do alone, but it’s also very personal.
He’s antsy to get out of the house most days.
He wants to move. Go somewhere. Do something. Anything, really. I understand it. Staying still means sitting with the quiet, and seeing the place where mom no longer lies or the decorations she chose. Looking at the pictures of her.
But coming back after an outing… that’s the hardest part. Walking back through that front door knowing she’s not here. Every single time. I see it on his face before we even park the car.
Dividing the ‘things’.
We had the family meeting.
The one about mom’s things. About what happens to it all now.
Dad said something that stuck with me. He said he’s ready for things to go. Just… ready. And I don’t think that’s about the stuff at all. I think that’s his grief talking. Letting go of objects feels a little like letting go of more loss, and some days he’s ready for that, and some days he’s not.
Now it’s a conversation every single day. What’s he really ready to release. What should stay a while longer. We’re not rushing it.
Right now we’re dividing things up based on what means something. The nostalgia. The memory attached. Not the dollar value. Not yet.
But some things do need real numbers put to them. A few pieces need to be appraised properly before we can even talk about dividing them fairly. That part is slower. More formal. It doesn’t fit as easily into a family sitting around a table over lunch on a Saturday afternoon.
Financial oversight.
I’m helping dad close accounts. And find ones we didn’t know existed. We are consolidating and documenting. Updating to avoid taxes and probate as much as we can. And I’ve got 4 years of their tax returns to file.
This has been its own kind of work. Some accounts needed closing outright. Others… we found accounts none of us knew he and mom had. That happens more than people think. It means slow, careful digging. Patience. Paperwork.
And through every bit of it, I’ve made sure my siblings see what I see. Every account. Every dollar. Every decision. Being transparent with them matters more to me than being fast. This is too important to let trust get shaky over money.
Grieving through it all, but maybe a bit hopeful too.
The tears show up at different times. For different reasons.
Sometimes it’s a bill with mom’s name still on it. Sometimes it’s dad’s face after GriefShare. Sometimes it’s nothing at all… just a Tuesday, and it hits anyway. Grief doesn’t run on a schedule. I’ve stopped expecting it to.
For the first time in a long time, I feel something else creeping in alongside the fog and the grief. Clarity. A little bit of my own dreams coming back into focus. Different but there again.
I’m starting to think about my future again. Not close. Not soon. I’m committed to staying with dad for as long as he needs me, and that’s not changing. But somewhere down the road, there’s a version of my life waiting for me again.
And just being able to see that far ahead… after everything… that feels like hope.
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