AP Month Essay Contest
Essay 3 - Grief and Presence
“Giving our Children Presence” was the tagline created by Attachment Parenting International (in which I am a leader) in celebration of Attachment Parenting Month in October. I am now convinced that presence and presents are a homophone by no accident. I had a serious brick in the face as to the true meaning of giving presence.
Only weeks ago our family was devastated by the suicide of my father-in-law. I have since become somewhat of an expert on suicide and depression out of necessity for dealing with such a tragic event. The last time our family visited my father-in-law we had a great time and went to breakfast and watched him enjoy pancakes with ice cream. My husband and I had a meaningful conversation with him about helping him get his life on the right track. I will never forget that the last thing I did was give him a big hug and tell him that I loved him. Six days later our relationship was over.
If you have ever experienced grief over someone close to you, you will understand it creeps up in everyday life in the most unexpected ways. For me, immense frustration or sadness could overwhelm me at any moment. I have learned to just roll with it when this happens, but sometimes the grief is hard to recognize. This was just the case when my brick of presence hit me.
Saturday I was getting my needed ‘recharge self time’ away from everyone and was headed to coffee. I drive down a very busy street past a senior living center everyday. I admit I push the speed limit of 40 more often than I should and this day was no exception. Very often I pass the senior center and see an elderly man sitting on the edge of a huge electrical box just watching cars pass. I have noted him and his momentary gaze before and thought how nice it would be to watch the blur of the world go by instead of being the blur. As I passed this time it was different, he looked me directly in the eyes with a simple acknowledgement of humanity. Presence. He was more present in that slice of a moment than most every single person I know.
I raced to get my cup of coffee and bought him a small bouquet of flowers. I couldn’t wait to give these to him to just say thanks for bringing home the AP lesson I needed. I got there and he was gone so I went inside. A lovely lady asked if I needed help and I fumbled over my words, a bit embarrassed, “I am looking for the man that sits outside,” I managed to say more like a question than a statement. Then the scene from the bad Hallmark movie, I began to cry. I could barely talk; it was awful. Between breaths I explained that he made eye contact with me, despite my speed, and I always was reminded to slow down in life after meeting his short but meaningful gaze. Trying to understand the tears I realized it was grief showing its ugly head again but it was also the missing piece I needed to stop the “what if?” questions that happen after death. My father-in-law really could have used more presence. I know that it probably wouldn’t have changed the outcome but what a gift I missed out on by not stopping in my life’s blur and giving my presence freely. The lady was very kind, got me a tissue and said that she understood and that Ted would be right down.
Ted was indeed an elderly man and it was obvious it was his body was turning old, not his mind. He happily took the flowers and gave me a hug as I choked back the tears. “Anytime,” Ted said. “Anytime.”
He gave me so much that day. He helped heal my grief and my lesson in ‘giving my children presence’ didn’t come from the place I expected. It came from Ted.
