No more fear, but grief is still here.

My sister Erin and I were babysitting together on Friday night. We were able to chat for hours. We shared our thoughts and feelings, and we wept. It's such a gift to talk to someone who understands exactly what I'm going through. As I lay here after our conversations have ceased, the tears continue to roll down my face as my grief overwhelms me.

When you are crying, do you ever try to stop the tears by holding your breath? Maybe if you stop breathing than your mind will stop thinking and the painful feelings will go away? I open my eyes and gasp and the pain is more painful than before. I put my hand on my chest and pray that God would take it all away. I throw my arms up... acknowledging that I'm powerless. I'm trying to walk through my grief. Man does it hurt. But I'm leaning in.

I'm staying far away from my guilt. It's too much to bear.

I hate how my dad never wanted to burden anyone. Even when his lung collapsed and he was dying... he didn't want to burden Erin with the phone call or needing her to come to the hospital. Maybe Dad was like me and didn't feel worthy. He was also a pleaser. I'm just like my dad.

I'm still so traumatized by watching my dad go through the dying process. The clips I have playing in my head torment me when they surface and haunt me every night as I lay in bed, trying to fall sleep.

There is one sentense that my sister said that I can't stop replaying in my mind, "Dad lived in a constant state of fear his whole life." I hate generational sin and the bondage that had a grip on my dad. I hate it so much because I experience it often, too.

I despair at the thought of him living in fear and hiding, constantly anxious and worried about finances, prison, sickness, etc.

That look of terror in my dad's eyes when he entered the process of dying is one of the most horrible things I've ever experienced, along with that cough. I can't imagine what my dad must have felt at various points in his life when circumstances were hopeless.... I can't imagine the fear.

When Dad was diagnosed, he said, "I'm not afraid of dying, I'm just not ready to."

The last year God worked miracle after miracle in my dad's life, and in my family. The gospel and the name of Jesus broke many of Dad's chains. I believe Dad had peace in his last days. And I'm learning a lot, even in the midst of my grief. "God did not give us a spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and a sound mind." (2 Timothy 1:7)

Even though right now I collapse at the visions of my dad taking his last breaths, I know that someday I will be so grateful for showing him my love and giving him permission to leave this earth, for being there as he took his last breaths and passed.
 

I'm thankful for the peace that my dad had at the end of his life. I'm thankful for the hope and promise of heaven. I'm thankful that everything sad in my dad's life has come untrue. I'm thankful he doesn't have fear any more. I'm thankful his pain has been taken away. I'm thankful that he doesn't have to cope or protect anymore from this broken world. I'm thankful that my dad has been healed and can breathe now. I'm thankful my dad is with Jesus. But I sure do miss him.


I know that my dad wouldn't want me to feel unworthy or unlovable. I know that my dad wouldn't want me to fear. I know he wouldn't want me to have guilt. I know that he would want me to overcome the things that he wasn't able to on this earth. I know that he would want me to take hold of the Spirit of power that's living in me, and not be afraid.

My dad is with Jesus, and Jesus is living inside of me.... so I will not fear.