I’ve always loved being quiet. Waiting…looking…attempting to figure out why the world is how it is. Thinking silently to myself. Scanning my brain for answers while listening to the refrigerator hum. Wondering what things will look like a year from now as I wet my toothbrush. I am looking into my soul for guidance as I re-rack my weights in the gym. I was a quiet kid too. I read large books that would spill out of my set of hands and played video games that were indeed mature well into the night. I would bury myself under my comforter if I heard foot steps approaching my door. I never had a problem being quiet when I was supposed to be. Now I’m figuring out how to handle the effects of life silencing me.

At this point in my life, I’m quiet for other reasons. Losing a parent has been a very humbling experience, to say the least. The pain that comes from the death of a parent can’t be described. If I had to I’d equate it to accidentally closing a car door on one of your fingers. Or even one of those double doors at school. I still think about the time that happened to my older brother. It isn’t until it happens to you that you understand. It isn’t until it happens to you that you know what to say. Grieving a parent brings a multitude of emotions. Some are easier to manage than others. All of the feelings though you carry along like a slightly crooked thumb. What has shocked me the most is having no control over when these emotions will hit you. They can hit while you’re wrapping up a deliverable at work, rounding out 10,000 steps on the treadmill, or picking out steaks at the grocery store. Since losing my dad in October I’ve met emotions just about anywhere and at any time you could think of. It’s February now and I can say having faith is what has kept me glued together.

I’m grateful to have a relationship with God that grants me peace and hope when I feel hopeless. I’m grounded in the fact that I have friends and family as support. There is a part of this grieving process that I must do alone though. I think that is where the lessons learned from all of this come into play. Not coping with substances, understanding that grief is a lifelong process, being comfortable asking for help, and letting myself feel emotions as they come. While at times I still don’t feel quite like myself, I’m remembering to give my brain time to re-wire.

It alters your brain chemistry when a part of what gave you life is no longer present in the physical realm. I think differently now than I did a year ago. The questions I present to myself are drastically different. If I were to die tomorrow would I be at peace where I went home at? My dreams pit me in fantasy novels crossing rocky waves of turquoise water in search of who killed the king. Or I’m sent on a conquest with a million things to cross off my to-do list in the vein of Arya Stark. The uptick in thoughts along with the detachment from others has helped me focus on hearing God more clearly.

I hear God so much more easily now in my day-to-day life. While it is comforting, especially in prayer, it is equally scary because it feels like the afterlife is calling out to me at times. Sometimes I run from it because if I can be honest I’m not ready for the afterlife at all. I think about life after death and heaven a lot. I think about the person I’m becoming…who I want to be and if I’m doing what I should be doing on Earth. Being reunited with loved ones for an eternity fills my eyes with water. I hope I’m living right. I pray I’m following the right path and aligning with the right people. I mourn people every day that are still breathing. I mourn versions of myself. Hoping that I have unlocked all the knowledge from previous versions before leveling up.

Truthfully I wasn’t prepared for how losing one parent would make you grieve for the other prematurely. It’s hard not to wonder how many more times I’ll get the privilege of seeing my mother in good spirits and good health. Guilt runs through me when I prioritize myself, but I know that if I don’t I won’t have a full cup to pour into her or others — reminding myself to make the most of our time together. To be present and enjoy her company even when she starts to do the annoying mom thing. But also not beating myself up when I need extended alone time. Grief I think in a way promotes solitude. There is growth there, but I’m learning to find the fine line between seclusion and community. Lately my focus is prioritizing better days that lead to better weeks and months. Starting my day with intention and ending in worship. Trying to get better about letting horrible thoughts exit the train car in my mind more abruptly. And clinging tighter to what keeps my heart beating.

So that was just my brain and heart under a microscope for 700-ish words. Equal parts sadness, peace, grief, and paranoia. For everything there is a season and I’m the only thing that I can hold onto eternally. I’ve spent plenty of time the past few months just being still. Wondering if I’m still the Joe that can create amidst the sadness. I’ve learned that even when I am very still movement is still happening. This is the part of my story where I get to decide how to move forward. I know that everything that I want wants me. Grief and the things that I go through in this life do not define me. I’m defining myself every day and will continue to do so as I push through every storm sent my way.

The Soundtrack:

https://embed.music.apple.com/us/playlist/blackgradlife-i-have-nothing-to-say-until-i-do/pl.u-NgZWtLkPVGr

“I’ve learned that even when I am very still movement is still happening.”

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Music, the Black experience, and life after college lifestyle blog by Joe©️

BLACK GRAD LIFE