Adult Children: Processing Grief While Preparing To Soar
My father died this past August at the age of 93. Years ago, I was chosen by my parents to be the trustee when they had both died. The time had come. By the time tax season had come and gone, essentially my official duties were complete. My brothers and I had cleared out our parent’s home and sold it.
Aside from about eight boxes of photo albums I am not yet ready to deal with, all that remained were the boxes of records my father had kept meticulously for the past 80+ odd years since his 8th grade commencement program in 1941. He was quite a record keeper. Think tax returns from the 1960’s. As I tend to take after my father with regard to holding on to records, I dragged my feet. I asked a friend to help me sort through piles.
After four hours of sorting it was time to take a break. I knew from how drained my body felt that it was time to emotionally regulate. I find the practice of journaling a key component in maintaining my mental health. Even though they are not physically here, I wrote them a letter…
Dear Mom and Dad,
That was hard today. So Final. So sad to be putting things you touched into the shred pile. Letting go. Saying goodbye to things you put your energy into. Your love into. Your care into. Dad- how much you loved Mom. Provided for her. For us. For your family. Such a great provider. I’m taking such good care of your affairs. I wonder if you finally believe I was never intending to usurp your dignity or your power. I was only intending to help. I have to believe you do.
I hope you see how much tender love I’m putting into closing up your time on earth. I will always have my memories of happy times with both of you. I hope you’re back together now. And so happy.
I feel sad. It hurts to think you’ll never write a note to me again. I treasure seeing both of your handwriting. So totally unique. So totally you. I remember as a teenager, teasing each of you for your distinctive, unmistakable penmanship style. For some reason seeing your writing on paper is poignant for me. I honor that fact.
It’s time to move on. Say goodbye. I don’t think you were capable of grasping the magnitude of my capabilities. You didn’t mean to. It was the last thing you intended, but you actually stifled my potential and creativity in a way. Now it’s time for me to soar. Maybe now you understand from your ethereal vantage point.
I love you both so very much. You were the best parents for me. Thank you for all the love you gave me. You wanted everything for me. I know it. I appreciate it. I love you. I miss you. Goodbye for now.
Love,
Sally
Sally Bartlett, ©2021
Sally Bartlett
Sally is a professional health and menopause coach who has maintained a 35-pound weight loss for 30+ years through sustained self-acceptance without dieting.
- Grieving
- Emotional Regulation
- Aging
- Womens Health
More from Sally Bartlett
Sally is a professional health and menopause coach who has maintained a 35-pound weight loss for 30+ years through sustained self-acceptance without dieting.