Healing Grief through the Passing of Time

I don’t know if it is this way for everyone… but when you lose someone you love, does it sometimes feel as if time sort of freezes and stands still?

Last weekend marked the second anniversary since my dear father passed away. He passed quite suddenly (although in hindsight there were warning signs that at the time I failed to acknowledge), but he was at home – where he wanted to be – with his two daughters, my sister and I, by his side. The memory of that day is etched in my mind as clear as if it were yesterday.

So how could two years possibly have passed by since then, if I am able to remember that day so clearly, when I can’t even remember what I ate for lunch one week ago? And as more time passes, will that day and the memory of my dad as he was always be so clear, or will it begin to fade over time? My earliest memory of him is as my protector who sang “Halleluja” to me under a starlit sky, but he was also a philosopher and traveller who showed me the world, from Europe to America, Russia and India, and a published author who shared with me and passed on his great passion for writing… If I am continuing to age as everyone does, growing and changing with the years, will I still remember the man who was in my life just 26 short years?

Probably the best marker of time for me is my daughter, Isla Raine, who was born two days after my dad’s birthday (a belated gift for him…), in the very same hospital where he stayed six months before he passed, and whose middle name we chose in honour of my dad, Rainer.

Over these two years I have made a conscious effort to talk to Isla about her “Opi”, to keep his memory alive by showing her his photos, reading her his stories and singing his songs with her. It all paid off when, just the other day, she looked me deep in the eyes and said something I’ll never forget: “Opi is in my belly.” I knew straight away what she meant: a child’s innocent version of saying that Opi is in her heart, just as I must have explained to her at some time or another.

Both my beautiful daughter with her sweet revelations and evidence of the slow but steady passing of time, have been the greatest healers in this whole process of grieving. Because all around me, so many things appear to stay the same, until I look a little closer and realise… My dad’s house looks very different now, and the people occupying it have changed. The plants and flowers in his garden have grown tall and healthy. The citrus, mango and custard apple trees he planted more than a decade ago are now finally producing luscious and abundant fruit.

And me? Well… just as I had first resented the fact that I will never again learn anything more from my dad, I realise that this is not the case at all… because even though he is gone, I am here and with age and maturity the lessons I gained from him begin to take on a new light as I bask in the memories of a wonderful man who, through his work as a psychological healer, changed many people’s lives and taught me a great deal in the process. So far this newfound wisdom has even given me the strength to write about my experience here, and I know he would feel eternally proud.

* Zanna Taeni *