Ever have something gnawing at you but you can’t quite put your finger on it? This is me putting it down on “paper” and about to share something pretty personal with you. Writing has always been a cathartic exercise for me. I probably should have tried journaling back in the day but I’m too much of a control freak to start and not finish an entry. So here it goes… unfinished and imperfect.
This upcoming school year is my baby’s Senior year in high school. Yes… baby. Last child. My eldest is going to be a Junior in college and my little guy (again, baby, you heard me) is headed to college next Summer. If you’ve been following long enough you know how hard watching the first one fly away was. So here I was in my living room just last week thinking, planning, panicking. You’d think my HRT would make me feel more even keeled about this next phase but I can’t help the emotions barreling through me (I know, I know I’m not an empty nester yet so chill out Gaelle BUT I’m a planner sorry). So back to my living room session… what is it that I’m so worried about? And it struck me what that “gnaw” was. I identified the root cause of two deep seated regrets in my life and in order to change the course of this weight they hold over me, I’m going to dig even deeper.
My father passed away at the young age of 69 after battling Cancer for an insanely long time. The high hopes, the low lows, it wasn’t pretty. Watching my extraordinary mom care for him through it all is a love story of resilience I will never forget. But for those of you who have lost, you know how stupidly complicated and not streamlined the process of death is. The paperwork, the picking out the cemetery plot, the coffin selections (like wtf) and all of that while you are still trying to make sense of the fact that your life as you knew it is turned upside down. My biggest regret was not being able to share his story after he died to those that kindly gathered at his funeral. When it came my turn to speak, it felt like a timed academy awards speech and all I had was 5 mins to say a prayer before the music started to play. I wish I could have talked for hours about him to share and celebrate his life, his accomplishments, his one-of-a-kind pep talks, his huge heart and generous spirit. I don’t know why this moment has stuck with me but it has and probably because grief is never linear and a lot was happening and well, I’m not over it (and probably never will be). I love the feeling of being on vacation in your own home. The sense of relaxation and beauty everywhere you look.
Shortly after this death, we were forced to also let go of our magical piece of Nantucket. It was COVID, my husband had lost his job and we made the right choice and the loss wasn’t comparable but it was all TOO MUCH. This was not about the material loss. This was about leaving my dad behind (again) and stealing memories from my kid’s lives. Ironically, the day after my dad’s funeral, I whisked my mom up to our ACK house and we spent what we called the “summer of healing.” It was a space where we could get away from all the paperwork, the difficult conversations, the everyday that we (especially she) no longer knew how to navigate without him. That summer, the kids showed my mom the best fields to pick strawberries, the beaches that had endless walks without anyone around, the secret spots where if you closed your eyes it felt like a giant hug thanks to the sounds of nature. Personally, I felt closer to him on that island than anywhere else in the world (and trust me, I’ve traveled!). It was like he gave us one last Summer before the ugly reality settled in. So leaving the “house” behind was like grieving him all over again and losing my footing as a family.
Fast forward eight years later and it hit me like a ton of bricks…
For years, I kept that part of my life tucked away because I wasn’t ready to face the grief all over again. Closing the door felt safer than opening it. But now, as the kids prepare to head off to college, I realize this new season is giving me permission to open those doors again. To rediscover the parts of myself I quietly set aside. To embrace whatever path comes next with the same curiosity and appreciation for life that my dad embodied—not with sadness for what I’ve lost, but with gratitude for everything that brought me here.
A grief counselor once shared that healing often means looking backward before moving forward. By revisiting the moments that shaped us—the ones that brought us joy and the ones that brought us pain—we can better understand ourselves. Hold on to what made your heart feel full, learn from what hurt, and carry the joy with you into the next chapter of your life. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.
Thx for listening…I’m so happy you’re here!
