The price we pay for love...

“Grief is the price we pay for love.” – Queen Elizabeth II

My Dad died in early February, but I don’t think I really realized he was gone until October 25, my birthday. That was the first time in my whole life that he didn’t sing “Happy Birthday,” give me some kind of gift and tell me how special I was to him.

I don’t remember much about my childhood birthdays – they were always well-celebrated with a cake and some kind of party. I do remember every grown-up birthday I had – up until this year – my Pop would call in the morning, sing “Happy Birthday” over the phone, and tell me how clearly he remembered the day I was born and how very special I had been to him ever since. He called me “Beeps” or “Little Beeper,” and I could hear in his voice, how very much  he did, indeed, love me.

In later years, he sent a card with a pickle on the front and a $100 bill ( or Ben, as he called them) inside; where he found all those pickle cards, I do not know.

But this year, even though I half expected it all day long, he didn’t call. There was no song. There was no pickle card. There was no Pop.

Grief is an odd meandering beast that comes and goes in strange ways and at strange times – for me, usually when I least expect it. This year my family was visiting on my birthday – kids, sister and my Dad’s wife. It was so nice to be together simply enjoying the lake and each other’s company. It had been a rough year for us all, with my Dad’s long illness and then the shock and sadness of his death. The weather was perfect and there was so much love and laughter in the air. We, of course, spoke of him fondly and wished he was there, but somehow the happiness was bigger than the hole…

Until, late in the day - my birthday - I realized I will never see my Pop again. I will never hear his voice or see his handwriting again. He really is gone forever, now only present in memories. Those were the first real tears I’ve cried since he passed, the first real gut wrenching sobs I’ve sobbed…gone, my Pop is really gone…

My therapist said I “hit the wall of loss” that day and yes, for the first time probably did realize that my Dad Pop is gone. She says I have a year of “anniversaries” – times and dates that were significant to him and I, and that after I get through this first year, the “anniversaries” will get easier…or not.

And, so the journey begins. The emotional fog I was apparently living in has lifted and now I have to grieve for my Pop. That’s not much of a birthday present, but it’s a necessary step down a path that will probably stretch ahead of me for a long time…

I’m thankful for all of those “Happy Birthday” songs and pickle cards and fond memories my Dad shared of his “Beeper” as a baby, child and grown up. I had a really good Dad for nearly 59 years and that’s a lot of years, especially when they are filled with love…Oh, Pop! I miss you so much.