How Looking Back is Helping Me Move Forward

A wave of grief, old photos, and opening another door to healing

I was sitting on the couch the other night and felt a huge wave of grief wash over me. I felt overwhelmed with sadness and with missing my daughter Chloe. It came out of nowhere, as grief often does. The unpredictability of grief adds a layer of difficulty onto what’s already one of the most challenging experiences a person will face.

I met a wonderful woman on this platform named Dina Bell-Laroche. She writes about grief as well and I find her to be an invaluable source of wisdom and guidance. She taught me about the term “STUG.” It’s a Sudden Temporary Upzsurge in Grief. I find it to be the perfect description of how grief comes in waves. It helps me remember that they are always temporary which makes them a little easier to navigate when the pain feels intolerable.

I stared off into space while I processed what was happening. After a minute or two, I said, “I really, really miss Chloe” and started crying. Tanja asked me, as she always does, if I wanted to talk about it. I didn’t and stumbled to the basement. I find comfort in the cool darkness of the underground when grief hits.

Chloe’s urn is sitting on my desk. It’s there because, two and a half years later, I have no more clarity on what’s best for me to do with her remains. As I’m writing this, I feel an intense sense that I should return her to the earth. That decision can wait.

I walked over, tears running down my face and picked her up. I clutched her to my chest and sat down on the couch. I opened my laptop and started looking at old pictures and movies from when my girls were young. I cried harder than I have in a long time - the heaving sobs kind of crying.

I realized something and reminded myself of something else. Both are important to me.

I realized that in the two and a half years since she died, I have never gone back and looked at those pictures or movies. Not once.

When you lose someone you love, it can play havoc with the memories you’re supposed to cherish. They’re all you have left but it feels impossible to find a sense of happiness in them. How can I laugh at a silly movie of six year old Chloe when I know she’ll be dead thirteen years later?

I’ve created a classic griever’s Catch-22 where at least part of my pain is a self-inflicted wound. I’ve never wanted to watch them because I was afraid of tainting them with my grief. And by not watching them, I’ve deepened my sense of loss. It took me nine hundred twenty-six days to see what I’ve been doing to myself.

I guess I wasn’t ready, until now. And that’s OK. This time, I watched them and felt only sadness and longing. I thought of all the things that might have been and never will be. I miss my girl so damn much. I also realized that this moment represented progress in my healing journey.

The pain was acute but it won’t always be this way. I know the more I reconnect to those moments in our lives, the more I’ll be able to rediscover the joy and magic in them. Joy is a wonderful tonic to soothe the pain of loss.

Watching them also reminded me that I was a good dad. I wasn’t perfect by any stretch, but the videos showed me that I did my damn best to always make them feel safe and loved.

Their mama suffered from devastating mental health issues for the five years before she died. She spent time in rehab, locked psychiatric wards, and up and moved three hours away for five months when our youngest daughter was just a baby. There was even a brief stint in a homeless shelter.

I was their primary caregiver for much of the time their mom was sick and a single dad after she died. I tried to protect them from the chaos and trauma as best I could. I did my best to give them as normal an upbringing as possible. And I always tried to be uncommon in how I loved them, played with them, laughed with them and talked to them. That’s something I’ll be proud of to the end of my days.

There have been countless times since Chloe died that I’ve questioned my decisions and actions as a dad. How could I not have seen how out of control her life had become? How could I have not seen through the lies she told me? How could I have thought that if I just loved her enough, her heart would heal?

I’ve mostly come to a place of peace and acceptance that I did my best. Of course if I could go back, there are things I would do differently. But that’s not an option. Being a great dad was and is the most important thing in the world to me.

Seeing myself on video with the girls during those times was good for me. It was good to see how much I love them. Even if I couldn't feel joy this time, I know I’ll laugh again at all the funny, ridiculous, and light-hearted moments we shared together. They’re a part of me and they always will be. That’s something I’m deeply grateful for.

As is common in grief, this experience was incredibly painful and just as necessary. It’s opened the door to another phase of my healing process. It’s allowed me to start to reconnect to a beautiful and important part of my life. Sometimes it’s important to go back to go forward.

And it’s one of the many reasons I write about grief for men, and the people who love them.

I love you and I miss you little buddy, and I always will. ♥️♥️

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