My father lived to be 100. He passed away peacefully in November 2021. He died pretty much in the same manner that he lived. He had very little drama, was cheerful, and found positive in those around him. My mother died in April of 2018. There was much more drama and pain in her passing as there had been in her life. By the time my father died all of his age peers including his younger brother had all been gone for some time. He was last man standing in his generation. In a way we were all happy that he could transition to his next journey. Everyone liked my dad. He was friendly, interested in you, and had very few if any enemies. I don’t remember experiencing a lot of grief over his passing, nor my mother’s. My relationship with my mother was complicated, but the love we had for each other was never in doubt.

My daughter, Erika, didn’t make it to 46. She was less than half the age of my father when she died of a progressive un-diagnosed brain disease in January, 2022. She was loved and very close to every family member, had friends from all over the world, had a brilliant mind and a loving spirit. Her healing abilities were many. Losing her has been a much different experience than losing my mom and dad. She left too early in the wrong order. I had lost my mentor, Dan Jordan, in October, 1982, when I was only 32 just trying to make my way in my career. It was painful, untimely, and changed the direction of my career, but losing Erika has been quite another thing.

Erika’s passing, though nearly 20 months ago, is still so very fresh. My grief is like a constant companion. It follows me around as if it is my shadow reminding me when I start to get up about life again, that it is still around. I have heard people describe this kind of grief as being messy and long and not able to be charted. It seems right. The first year was pure pain, even physical in nature. I was not capable of much intention even though I wanted to do more. When I had lost jobs in the past (3 different times on 3 different continents in difficult circumstances), I could take to long distance running as a way to dissipate the negative energy. Running was my healing spa. I could get lost on a trail and not care about getting back home or getting lost. Running was a salve to my wounded ego.

When Erika left us for her own journey into other realms, running also left me. I could at times, hike, and walk, but the loss and pain ran too deep. My body couldn’t do it. I would make starts at running, do one or two days, and then a few weeks would pass before I could do another one. Whatever kind of loss the other losses were, this was in another whole league. There is no use describing it in words, though that is what I am doing here on this page. I am comforted in my belief that there are worlds of God beyond this physical one, that life continues. I often feel her presence, but there is nothing quite like this kind of loss.

I can tell you quite clearly what the message of loss is from my years of dealing with negative emotions. Grief (loss) comes to us so that we can get back up again and maintain positive energy toward worthwhile goals. It was easier when I was fired from jobs. I could train long hours to do a marathon get to the finish line and hear the words, “I am still standing.” So, I get it that I am supposed to get back up again and be energetically involved in worthwhile pursuits. But this time it is really hard.

There is a tendency to ask, “Why me, Lord?” in this kind of circumstance. I don’t think I will go there. Why is never a very useful question. I much prefer “how” as a question. How does one get back up, being fully engaged in meaningful projects?

The important lesson here in writing about this for me is to not give a lot of textbook answers. Grief is messy and we all know it, but God seems to love the quality of resilience. It seems to be one of those virtues that are the most honored. You are down on the mat after getting punched really hard and have to decide if you are ever going to get back up again. I thought I had learned the quality of resilience after having been fired on three continents and losing my mentor too early, but this one was a whole different kind of match. The lights went out.

I am still on the mat after having been punched, my head is now lifted up, and I am trying to stand, but a big part of me wants to stay in the ring and not get up again. I have faith that the day of standing and getting back in the fight is coming. It is just slow, ever so slow.

Would love to hear your stories of resilience in the comment section.