My Dad wasn’t into “ordinary.” He couldn’t remember a birthday and didn’t worry about what groceries to buy for the week. His role in life had always been “the rescuer.” You needed to move to another third floor apartment, my Dad had a truck and a strong back.
This is part three of the guest blog series on
Written by Amy Wilson Two years ago my husband, Heath,
"It’s not that you don’t care - you brought a casserole. You’re just scared. Scared of saying the wrong thing. Scared of making the widow cry. Worse yet, scared of making her put on a smile, fix coffee and listen patiently to your grief stories. You never mean to make it about you, it’s just that you get nervous and it’s kind of good to talk to someone you don’t have to explain things to…"
"I’ve discovered that grief wouldn’t exist without love, and the more you love someone the more profound your grief will be. With my father’s passing, I was angry like my Grandma. I was mad at God. With my mother’s passing, though, I realized I was like Mimi. Even though it felt like there was a hole in my heart, I could see and feel that God was all around me. There were too many signs of His love and that He DOES have a plan. It’s hard to deny."
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