New Year's, Grieving, and Moving Forward

New Year’s was really tough for me. My dad loved New Year’s. He loved Christmas, too. He loved getting an enormous tree, he loved putting up lights and decorations, he loved the angel that went on top of the tree. But New Year’s was different. There was no holiday stress with New Year’s. We’d made it through, and we had a clean slate coming up, and it was time to celebrate. We had a fancy dinner. My mom got out the good place-mats, and the good plates, and the good glasses. She made black eyes peas. My parents had lobster (which me and my brother hated), and we had something different. My dad always made us eat black eyes peas. My dad always had us recite our resolutions. New Year’s was fun. It’s honestly the only holiday that my family ever celebrated where I don’t remember conflict or yelling.

It’s been difficult since my dad died. Mourning someone who was abusive is hard. Grief is already complicated enough as it is, and I’ve had days where I haven’t known how to function. Because my father had been so sick for so long, not many people have checked in on me. Because he was abusive, people don’t seem to expect me to mourn or be sad. I don’t post a lot of personal stories on Facebook because it’s not a safe place for me. And it tends to be actively detrimental for my mental health. (Although it is kinda funny to watch a bunch of “woke” “friends” blather on about the importance of checking in on people who are suffering. They certainly haven’t checked in on me. But it also hurts. ) Plus, there’s a pandemic. Everyone is more isolated than usual. And doing their best to get through.

But it’s still been hard. And I want to say that. I want to say that these past six months haven’t been easy. I want to say that I miss my dad. That my grief is complicated. That I have a lot of conflicting emotions all existing at the same time. And that all of that is okay.

I’ve been learning a lot, too, and one of the things I’m learning to is take up space. That it’s okay to take up space. To exist. That I have, in fact, a right to exist. That even though I’ve been told my whole life that I don’t really deserve to be here, I do. I deserve to be here just by virtue of being here.

It’s a heady concept.

So I’m writing today to take up space. To be here. To say something I want to say. To be honest. To find my voice. To practice my voice. Because grieving has been hard. Being isolated has been hard. And learning and growing and changing has been hard.

Just so you know.