April 21st came this year with less emotion or fanfare than I have experienced in the past years. If I had not had it marked on my calendar, it may have passed me by without being noticed, on my part. I am not making that mean anything good or bad. It was just how it feels, and as I have learned through grief so many times, all feelings are valid and right in the moment they are felt.

It was a bright and sunny day, and I didn’t have a full schedule, so in the early afternoon, my husband and I ventured out in my tan Volvo to visit the gravesite. As I turned off Hwy 10 onto the off ramp, I visually realized I had not visited my dad in a while. They are building a new Minnesota Military and Veteran Museum right next to the cemetery, and on this day, the walls were being lifted into place. I slowed to watch the cranes and took in the incredible sight of seeing these tall, thick slabs of wall gently placed into their position to form the West wall of the building.

While the sun was bright, it wasn’t a warm day, and the overall color of nature hadn’t yet popped into spring, so light tan is the main color of things. As we made our way around the cemetery to the back side by the workshop, we noticed two areas where earth-moving equipment was clearing the topsoil to make way for more mausoleums. The cemetery continues to grow to meet the needs of the community of Central Minnesota.
As we pulled up, I noticed something new. There was a new row of markers with flowers all at different levels of decomposition in front of his area. I was surprised. I always liked that he was in the first few rows, I could easily see his marker from my car. That is changing. He also got a new resident in front of him. I noticed this because the marker in front of him had always said Doris, and that was my mom’s mother’s name. Today it was Donald Lowe, his wife Doris was now on the backside of the monument facing my dad’s. It still brings a smile to my face as I type this.

Once out of the car, I took a moment to breathe in the spring air, and as I did, a heaviness and sadness came to me. I miss my dad. In all the ways that he was, I miss having him in this world to talk to at holidays. Most of all, I miss his laugh and his hugs. He was such a strong man that when he hugged me, I felt safe and like I could figure things out. It was like a push of confidence in the moment. He was squeezing his love into you. I let a few tears flow from the corners of my eyes and just kept breathing. The sound of the earth movers brought a smile back to my face as I knew that he would enjoy that sound. He loved to be outside playing with equipment, doing things.

I didn’t stay too long, a wife was visiting her husband who they had buried just days ago, right in the same area, and I wanted to give her some space for her fresh grief and loss.

As we were pulling away from the cemetery and back onto Hwy 10 headed South, I was reflecting on and contemplating a podcast I had recently listened to for my coaching clients, which was from Dr. Daniel Brown, one of the leading experts in complex trauma. In particular, the part where he talked about the 3 essential ingredients of effective treatment for many clinical issues.
https://therapistuncensored.com/episodes/tu157-treating-complex-trauma-and-attachment-with-guest-dr-daniel-brown-replay/

The first item he talked about, he called “Intervention of the ideal parent.” Imagine getting all the right things from your parents. Do this many times, over and over again. Your brain starts to heal itself and shifts away from focusing on what was not there, allowing a person to stop reliving past trauma.

When Dr. Brown talked about this process, I thought of the process I went through in doing this painting. It explains one of the outcomes I have found on the other side of this painting process. I was able to separate the best parts of him from the parts that struggled to just stay alive. I did re-envision moments of trauma as I wish they had been. I have been able to laugh and cry at the humor I realized I had missed.

My wish for everyone dealing with a complicated loss is that they, too, might come to a place of peace as I have and be given a chance to heal and grow beyond the past and some of the worst moments of their lives. I wish myself and others peace on the journey.

The painting is currently sitting quietly in bubble wrap, waiting for me to pick it up from Charles’ studio and bring it home to hang on my wall. I am ready to receive and celebrate that gift soon. I’ll let you know when it happens.

Much love and thanks,
JoyGenea