“Grief has no 
expiration date.”
John Mark Green

He was in my dream again last night. Dad. He died more than eighteen years ago, yet he continues to be a presence in my life every day.

The weeks and months following Dad’s unexpected death in 2008 were difficult for me. Of course, I was well-aware that, at some point, my father would die. That’s a reality with which we all live. When it happened, however, it caught me totally off-guard. So I did my grief work. I embraced the loss I was experiencing, acknowledging it for what it was, and focused, as best I could, on the gratitude I felt for the time I had with Dad during his lifetime.

Some speak of “stages” of grief — denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. To be honest, I don’t have vivid recollections of going through that process, though, to some extent, I’m sure I did. What I do remember is taking time for myself. Lots of time.

One place I found an incredible sense of peace was the rocks above the surf on West Cliff Drive in Santa Cruz. I went there quite often. I reflected. I cried. I read the book The ABCs of Healthy Grieving by Harold Ivan Smith, which I found extraordinarily healing.

In the Introduction to his book, Smith included a quote from Madeleine L’Engle: “We are not good about admitting grief, we Americans. It is embarrassing. We turn away, afraid it might happen to us. But it is part of life, and it has to be gone through.” This was a gentle reminder that what I was feeling was normal, a feeling felt by many others.

Smith also pointed out that “grief has a way of surprising us with twists and turns, little ambushes that taunt, ‘Ha! You thought you were rid of me, didn’t you?’”

Some people expect that, over time, we will “get over” our grief and things will be the same as before. But in his book, Smith tells us, “No one who goes through grief remains the same.” And this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. He encourages us by acknowledging that “grievers can be wiser, more humane, more human, and more tender than before they were touched by grief.”

When I think of my Dad now, I don’t get that gut-wrenching feeling of loss that I experienced eighteen years ago. In fact, the feeling I get now is one of being loved. I am constantly reminded, through little things, that Dad is still with me today. What an amazing gift.

No, grief doesn’t end, but it does change. In fact, it transforms us. We learn to live somewhere between what was and what is. Grief is not something we need to fix or move past. In grief, there is no stage called closure. Grief is simply the price we pay for love.