This time of year, during the holidays, it is difficult for many people who have loved ones who died. It is especially difficult for those who are celebrating the holidays for the first time since their loved one died. This blog is meant for anyone who has lost a loved one, but most importantly for those readers who are celebrating the holidays for the first time without their loved ones. Always remember, you are not alone in your journey of grief. The title from this post comes from a personal experience when my daddy was given a terminal diagnosis in 2018.
“I’m sorry to tell you Mr. Smith, but you have stage 3 pancreatic cancer, it is inoperable, and your prognosis is about a 6–12-month survival rate. I wish I had better news.” I was sitting in the room with my Daddy when the oncologist gave him that news in January 2018. He just dropped his head and looked into his lap as the doctor stepped out of the room to give us some privacy. Without looking up, Daddy simply said, “It has been a good life, and I’ve done a lot. Me and God have it all worked out.” I didn’t have any words at that moment. I put my hand on his shoulder and just sat there with him quietly. A part of me hopes that I can have the same response and acceptance when it comes my turn to hear similar news and my journey is nearing the end.
To say the least, the next several weeks were a whirlwind of emotions, medical appointments, treatments (chemotherapy), and medications. Daddy tried one round of chemotherapy. At the time, I had the fortune to be able to work 100% remotely on a client consulting project while I was also attending university full-time with remote courses that semester. It allowed me to be there in person with daddy, mama, and my sister. I was there in the hospital with him while he did the first round of chemotherapy, and at home with him as he struggled with the difficult side effects. After one round of chemotherapy, he decided that he didn’t want to do it again.
We tried to find moments of happiness in the midst of the storm of cancer. I remember taking him to his favorite local diner, The Collegiate Grill on the town square, to get a hamburger steak sandwich and milkshake like he used to take me for as a kid. It was a brief moment of happiness that we thought might be repeated more in the 6-12 months he was given. But none of us knew just how quickly things were going to progress. Within a couple weeks, he was barely able to eat anything, and even when he did eat, he couldn’t get any of the nutrients and kept losing weight. And then it got worse, and he had to go into hospice.
Within 8 brief weeks after Daddy’s diagnosis of pancreatic cancer he quietly passed away as I stood by his side holding his hand, playing one of his favorite gospel hymns on my phone, Stroll Over Heaven, sung by Alan Jackson. The hospice nurse had called the day before he died to let us know that he was transitioning, and it wouldn’t be long. I sat up alone with him all night in hospice after others had left. And in the stillness of the morning as I watched the sun coming up, I noticed the change in his breathing that the hospice nurse had told me about. I moved to his side, held his hand while playing the music and told him I loved him, we would take care of mama, and it was ok for him to let go and rest. It was the hardest thing as well as the most blessed thing I’ve ever experienced. After he took his last breath, I didn’t rush to get the nurse. I stayed beside him, holding his hand, and feeling his spirit around me and the peace.
After he died, I found myself going to physical locations where we had shared memories or that reminded me of him. For example, the day he died, after I let all the family know and started the process for planning funeral arrangements, I drove into the North Georgia Mountains to a section of the Appalachian Trail and hiked up to an overlook at sunset. I sat on the rocky outcropping looking out on the mountains that daddy had introduced me to as a child and taught me to love so much. And I felt his spirit on the gentle breeze while I talked to him. Later, when driving back home to the Washington DC area, I stopped by the mountain trout streams where daddy and I would fish together. I felt his presence and voice in the sounds of the water across the falls and flowing through the rocks. The birthday and holidays that year after he died were so difficult for me. When I missed him most, I found a spot in nature that helped me connect with him again. I miss him physically being present in this world while at the same time, I try to keep his memory alive in my heart and spirit and seek out those physical spaces that for me act as a portal between worlds where I can still connect with him.
Since daddy died on March 10, 2018, there have been many other loved ones and friends who have died. Mama sadly died only 10 weeks after daddy from a heart attack in May 2018. My uncle Bobby and Aunt Margie (daddy’s siblings) also died in 2018. My mother-in-law died in 2019 and Cousin Renee Dailey sadly died this year in the spring of 2023. I’ve also witnessed several friends and co-workers etc. pass away much too young over the past few years.
At the same time, in the midst of grief and sadness, I am encouraged by the ways many of these family members, friends and co-workers embraced their various illnesses and impending deaths with courage, love, and grace. I’m also encouraged by those friends and family who have embraced unique ways to keep the memories of their loved ones alive and continue to honor and find opportunities to spiritually connect with them. For some, like daddy, they find comfort in their faith, with daddy saying, “me and God got it all worked out.” I think of that moment with daddy when I listen to the old country song, “Me and Jesus” by Tom T. Hall, and the lyric “Me and Jesus got it all worked out.” I had never heard that song before daddy died, but one day when I was feeling a bit down, I randomly found that song online and a smile came across my face and I was comforted as I felt daddy near me.
I offer up for consideration to other readers here who aren’t religious or are of different spiritual beliefs, that you can fill in that blank with whatever works for you when thinking about your loved one that has died and isn’t with you during the holidays. For daddy and me the blank is “Me and God or Jesus Got It All Worked Out.” But for others it may be “Me and _____ Got It All Worked Out” where the blank could be any spiritual deity or nature or anyone who inspires and encourages you in time of grief and challenges. I encourage you to find your own stories and what comforts you to fill that blank. Also, seek out those locations or experiences where you may be able to feel the spiritual presence and connection with your loved one that has died. And remember we are never alone; our loved ones surround us spiritually. And as the saying goes, we are all just walking each other home.
Wishing you a Peaceful Holiday Season.