(*Trigger warning* – cancer/losing a loved one)

Grief.

This year on June 12th my dad lost his voice.
On July 8th they discovered a mass in his neck.
On July 24th he was diagnosed with a return of papillary thyroid cancer in the form of several tumors throughout his neck and chest.

From July 25th through September 28th this was my dad’s story…

Paralyzed vocal cords
No voice
Plans for huge, invasive surgery
Tumor pressing hard on esophagus and windpipe
Coughing
Struggling to breathe
Struggling to swallow
Choking
Weakening
Slowing
Pain in his neck
Heart attack symptoms
Cancel plans for surgery
Chemo treatment
Radiation
Barium swallows
Suspend chemo treatment
18 straight days in the hospital
Suspend radiation
Tumor blocking liver bile duct
Itching
Yellow skin
Brown pee
Vomiting
Finding tumors throughout his whole abdomen
Worse choking
Steroids and panic attacks
Bed sores
Struggling to eat and drink
Futile endoscopies
Grossly swollen hands and arms
Pain and discomfort
Hallucinations
Inability to speak
Rapidly losing strength
Greater struggle to breath
Decline
49 hours home on hospice

On September 29th he passed away.

And this is the extremely short, sanitized and simplified version.

It was WAY worse than it sounds and vastly more complicated than I can communicate here.

I have said goodbye to

a loving father,
a funny friend,
a caring support,
a genuine and sincere human being.
A good and upright man, widely and deeply loved and respected.

I am grieving.

I watched him die a (both) horribly slow and shockingly fast death. It was jolting, distressing and traumatic in ways I am only beginning to understand.

I am processing.

Death is not a friend and grief is not tidy. I regularly sit with clients in my office as they express, feel and process their grief. It is my turn. Again. It’s not my first encounter with devastating loss and it is highly likely it won’t be my last. Now I am reminded of all the things I know clinically about grief – and this time it’s personal.

Interestingly, when I go back and read the list of things that happened to my dad, I am shaky – scared and unsettled at the idea of putting it out there for you all to read.
It feels too vulnerable.

Too intimate.
Too tender.
Too naked.
Too painful.
Too sad.

But isn’t that often how grief and trauma feel? I recommit myself to being as true as possible with you all as I write and observe both my process and the universal process of grieving.

As we enter the holiday season, I know I am not alone. The holidays can be filled with joy, but grief is often a palpable part of this season. There are many of us struggling with loss – loss of loved ones, health, friendships, finances, housing, faith, ideals, pets, community, hope. Loss comes in almost unlimited shapes and sizes.

If you or someone you love is grieving, will you join me, walk with me this season as I write posts and reflect on the topic of grief as a therapist, as a daughter and as a fellow journeyer in this life?

Sometimes walking with someone can help.