I sit here and write this at “The Much Room Cafe” in Chiang Mai, Thailand. I like to come here because it has wide open space outdoors with big trees and a waterfall. But today something is different. I am listening to the sound of singing cicadas. A circadian rhythm, if you will. Long periods of silences, and then a sudden emergence and buzzing of life. Similar to grief, just when you think its quiet, grief rises again filling the air with an inescapable presence.
My Experience of Grief
One might think that after so many years working as a hospice volunteer, I would have more of my sh!t together. With the ability to manage my emotions, and my life’s responsibilities when it comes to loss, death and grief. But grief is messy and works on its own terms. And I know, and sometimes need a reminder, that no one truly has their “shit together” when dealing with deep loss such as the loss of a parent.
Even though my father died almost a year ago, the experience of grief over his death has not ended. I have learned over this time to live with the pain of his loss. Even in his absence, my relationship with him has continued to be a significant one. This first yahrzeit for my father will not mark the end of my grief, but will help contribute to a new relationship I have with my memories of him.
The Grief in Family Estrangements
I ask myself a lot… are my family estrangements normal? In both sides of my family, they seem to be more common than I want to admit. Maybe because nobody wants to talk about them openly. Or make the effort to resolve some of the differences.
Estrangement is a painful and sometimes even a necessary choice. Especially when the relationships are harmful, betraying or abusive. Maybe the fundamental differences of personal values have people growing/grown apart from each other.
Unlike the grief from the loss of my father, this grief is different. It is grief without closure. People are still alive, but the relationship is gone. Sometimes I feel shame and want to keep this a secret. Because people and societies deep and rich in family values pressure me to “fix it”.
Regardless how I may want to think this through. I do experience some relief. But I cannot deny there is also loneliness and hurt. Mourning the idea of family and the loss of my father.
Reconnect To Life
No one is prepared for the loss and the death of a parent. I remember the joys celebrating my father’s birthday and his encouragements for me to follow my dreams. Having encountered his death, I am different. In mourning over the last year and the feelings of loss and the grief, the process changed me. But, how?
One day, I called him and told him I was moving out of the country and to Thailand. A few days later he died unexpectedly. When I moved to Thailand, the tropics, I see a lot of butterflies. Something in my mind made me think of him when I saw one. And it continues to this day.
By seeing the butterfly and thinking of my father I wonder what is the message I need to hear… or want to hear? His quiet presence says he is still with me. Maybe I need to pay closer attention to life’s signs and sensations and be more present to the things that stir something deep inside of me. Transformation and change are part of life, including painful ones. That even though he is gone, beauty still finds its way to me.
Understanding all this and trying to have all the answers, is the “booby prize”, one of my teachers said. Maybe the butterfly isn’t about solving something but just feeling something. A reconnection to life. A fullness of presence. A reminder that he mattered, that he still does, that he still moves through my world in ways I can’t always explain.
The Stories of Remembering
First, I want to bring back a memory of my father that I want to remember and share. For years after I was divorced, I went through a period of time searching, learning and healing. This process brought me to workshops, seminars, retreat centers, and ashrams. My family became concerned about the quantity of time I was spending at a “retreat center”. They all communicated to me they felt I had joined a cult and was becoming brainwashed. Of course, I had to laugh and at the same time felt their concern.
My parents were separated or divorced at this time. I was visiting my father in Colorado and sitting with him at the table. We were talking about his concern about me and the cult I may have joined. I expressed genuine gratitude for his concern and wanted to explain some things to ease his mind.
As we sat there with me talking (you know I like to talk, right?), my father began to drift off to sleep at the table. My first reaction was to get upset. But I learned enough over this time… the “first thought wrong” concept works well here. I interrupted this first thought program and attempted to install another perspective.
My father, not much of a deep philosophical thinker or in touch with his inner emotions was trying very hard to be present and listen to me. Although this particular brain or emotional muscle of his was not exercised a lot in his life. During this conversation, what I was telling him was asking him to think and feel a little differently. Exercising the muscle he did not have a lot of experience with.
I could feel his willingness to be present and learn about me. Even with his limited capacity. My frustration in the situation changed dramatically. I began to see him differently. He was trying very hard to stay with me, but didn’t have the life experience to relate to me. So, he began to drift off. During his drifting in and out, he did say something to me that I remember… “I am so proud of you, Maury”. I learned that being in relationship (with him) is more important than any negative thoughts or feelings I could possibly experience about someone.
A Small Request from My Heart
In Jewish tradition, the first yahrzeit marks the one-year anniversary of a loved one’s passing—a time to reflect, light a candle in their honor, and share memories to keep their essence alive. Remembering and speaking of those we’ve lost helps keep their presence alive in our hearts.
As I navigate life without my father, Jay Leavitt, I find comfort in keeping his spirit alive through the memories we all hold of him. If you knew him, if he touched your life in any way, I would love to hear your stories.
If you feel moved to share, please take a moment to write a memory—whether in the comments, on a blog, in an email, through a call, or even a video chat. However feels right for you. Your words, no matter how small, will mean the world to me.
Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for helping me honor my father’s memory and keep his spirit with us, even for just a moment. 💙
The Thing Is
to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.
by Ellen Bass, from Mules of Love
