I
lost my father in September of
1993; I was seven-years-old, and
my foundation had been
shattered. As a young man whose
life had been wrapped around his
father, I made my first brush
with mortality. I knew that
people could die, and I knew
that my father had cancer that
people often died from, but I
"knew" it wouldn't happen to our
family. It did, and I was
broken.
Today, however, I'm
twenty-years-old. I carry
with me the pain and joy of
knowing just how much like
my father I really am. I
know that I never got to
know him as well as I
wished. But I also know that
I wouldn't be standing here
talking to these great
people who want to help
teens and young-adults
through their grief and
mourning if I had not
experienced the death of my
father. I will never be
happy that he has died, but
I see there was a purpose in
it. God guides, and we don't
always understand what He
wants to do through us or
through those terrible
occurences in our lives. I
have found peace and purpose
in the growth I've
experienced since my
father's death, and I know
others can benefit from my
experience if I will let God
work through me.
Life is like a muscle:
In order for it to get
stronger and denser, it
must first be torn and
broken. Then it needs
time to heal. Then it
gets torn and broken
again, usually in
different ways, but if
we give it time to heal
it grows back stronger.
I was torn and broken.
Since then, I have
healed and been made
stronger. I still cry, I
still mourn; even though
my father died 12 years
ago. We don't "get over"
our grief, we reconcile
it, and we learn to live
with it. It gets easier
as time goes on, even if
it does show up now and
then. And even though I
can't predict when the
next "tearing" and
"breaking" will be, I
will meet it, and give
myself the time to heal
and mend, and use that
also to benefit others.
