Stepping into Me: The Future
[This is the last post in my Stepping into Me series; please see The Beginning and Navigating the Middle.]
While my self-awareness journey, my struggling daily practice of stepping into me, began in earnest nearly thirty years ago, its final stage dawned when my dad — my true north — passed away, two years ago. It was then, in real time, that I genuinely met my strength, resilience, and faith, the depth of which I hardly knew. Through my devastation, these traits became the connective tissue that rebuilt me — bolstering my confidence and altering my self-perception for the better, stronger, and wiser.
Dad was always my moral compass, the yardstick against which I assessed the quality of my thoughts and behavior — personally and professionally. When in doubt, I trusted the unfailing guidance of his deeply humble, quiet ways. His life was principled; his standard, both generous and fair. Dad’s unwritten rules were simple, yet powerful. Be true to yourself. Do the right thing. Have faith in God and one another. Love beyond measure. Oftentimes his long pauses, full of deliberate, meaningful silence, served as his best form of counsel. He set the bar high, and his decent, thoughtful example always caused me to contemplate my own choices. How would I move forward without my consistent, steady navigator?
Before Dad died (which is how I measure time now), I was settling into my comfortable life, feeling rooted, both feet firmly planted — knowing my core values, taking steps to act in accordance with them — and starting the next phase of considering my greater purpose… all things that would make him proud. Then, with little warning, my world was suddenly unrecognizable. He was gone, and without him, I no longer made sense. When you lose a parent, it’s totally disorienting — the ultimate vertigo. Part of your personal foundation, one of your most stalwart building blocks, crumbles beneath you. Your own feet feel foreign; walking, nearly impossible. You might topple over at any given moment, so some days, it’s best to just stay on your weary, praying knees. But, even if it’s only inch by inch, I’ve realized that if you keep pressing on, it’s easier to stay upright. Most days.
There was no time for grief immediately after Dad passed — there was too much to be done, so many details to attend to, tasks that simply couldn’t wait… photo collages to create, flowers to choose, readings and music to plan, an obituary to write, a eulogy to deliver — one worthy of this generous, bright, funny, and kind soul. Stubbornness perhaps isn’t one of my better traits, but in this case, it served me well. I was solidly determined to stand up and pay tribute to my dad — with the grace, strength, and respect he deserved. And I’m proud to say that I did. Eulogizing my father was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done, but also one of the most truly rewarding. I believe that I honored him well and throughout that completely overwhelming and heartbreaking process, I came to understand the power of my resilience, the way he always did.
The day after the funeral, when all of the formalities were behind us, for me, everything came to a crashing halt. I simply fell apart, shattering into a million tiny, aching shards. It was overdue and much needed. I collapsed onto the couch and attempted to watch a movie. And, finally, the sleep that had evaded me for days, came. I felt an intense sense of peace and the strong, but gentle pressure of a guiding hand on my right shoulder. He was there. Dad! My eyes flew open, expecting to see him standing beside me. Instead, my eye was drawn to the window, where outside I saw the largest dragonfly I have ever seen. Time stood still while it hovered there for what felt like an eternity before flying away — reluctantly, it seemed. Dad? I know that was you. Please, send me just one more sign, so I can be sure. My eyes were pulled from the window to focus on the nearby TV screen where a movie character appeared on a front porch wearing a tan, wide-wale corduroy sport coat, exactly like Dad’s favorite jacket. My second sign. Being a deeply spiritual person, I firmly believe that was Dad, telling me he was ok and letting me know that I would be, too.
True self-discovery is a continuous, lifelong journey. I will always look to the sky with a wink and a smile when I know Dad is sending me reassuring signs, guiding my way. Losing him was nearly unbearable for so many reasons, but I especially miss his mentoring. I’ve come a long way, though, to be at peace with making my own choices in the present — having the confidence to trust my gut instincts, and the ability to define my path, knowing what’s right for me. While I am my father’s daughter in so very many ways, I’ve realized that I’m also a result of my own experiences, lessons, and talents. It’s taken 50 years of living, loving, learning, and great loss, to step into being me, but here I am — ready to move onward, as I know Dad would want.
