The Lord is My Shepherd

Today, one of my favorite authors @emilypfreeman dropped her weekly podcast and today of all days it makes me weep.

I weep because it's a simple, yet profound podcast about Psalm 23 - one of Dad's favorites, one I read at the funeral. A Psalm that has ebbed and flowed with me throughout the years, but has taken on a whole new meaning in recent months.

I'm still marking time. Here in the midst of this pandemic - when all the days are crazy making and hours are jumbled together - the only time I still seem to truly be marking is the time it's been since Dad went home. It was a Tuesday, it was the 28, the weather was gloomy. Three months and yet the time of loss has spanned much longer than that. 

When Dad passed it felt like a reprieve from the constant feeling of helplessness and heartbreak watching Dad suffer. But it was replaced only with a deeper sorrow and loss of which I wouldn't truly understand until I started living it.

As I've grieved these past few months, I have been able to name what was one of the most difficult aspects of this journey. I realized that for the first time in my life, I no longer felt known by my father. I would look in his eyes and there was just such a loss there but I couldn't truly name it at the time; couldn't truly accept it at the time. 

The trouble was, he was hurting and I didn't want him to see me hurting too. I didn't want him to think he was the source of my pain. Because up until that point, he had never been a source of hurt and pain in my life. What a blessing and a legacy to be able to say that, yet it made it all the more devastating to realize that's what our relationship became in the end. Not of our choosing, but because of a disease which stole that source of stability and comfort. I absolutely hate that the relationship Dad and I had for the last few years of his life, were marred by this pain. 

I know, deep down in my heart that I have so many more memories of his goodness and grace and love and joy but I feel this now because I didn't allow myself to feel it for four years. Instead, I put up walls and retreated because it was the only way I knew how to keep from feeling cheated and angry; it was the only way I knew how to protect myself while I tried to help take care of Dad.

I know it's going to get better, I know that there will come a time when the weight isn't as heavy, the heartache not as prevalent. I trust that Psalm 23 is a reminder that even still, my cup overflows and goodness and mercy still abounds. I trust that Psalm 23 is the assurance of new life. 

But today, I trust that Psalm 23 is a comfort in this time of death and grief, "thy rod and thy staff they comfort me". My Shepherd and the earth weeps with me as things like dates and time and podcasts about Psalm 23 crash in like a wave. I miss you, Dad.