1291 Days Later and I'm No Longer Scared

I'm still a grieving dad. I'm just not afraid anymore

I was in a therapy session yesterday and realized something that felt important. My daughter Chloe died 1291 days ago, and I’m no longer scared. I’m not scared of the pain. I’m not scared of missing her. I’m not scared of grief.

Don’t get me wrong, the pain hurts, missing her sucks, and grief is hard. But I’ve learned to be with it, however it shows up, without trying to change it, until it passes. It always passes.

As the fear has dissipated, I’ve realized how much of a hold it’s had on me and for how long. It didn’t start with my daughter. It started with my first wife Cindy’s suicide. Actually, it started years before that as her mental health issues destroyed her life and our relationship.

Fear has been a shape-shifting, ever-present companion. It makes itself known in ways that are subtle and in ways that are anything but. Occasionally it takes over my body in an intense, overwhelming spasm that I’ve white-knuckled (or coped) my way through.

Mostly though, it’s humming along in the background, driving self-protective, counter-productive behaviours that make moving forward even harder than it already is. There are few forces that compound pain more than our need to protect ourselves from it.

Fear of ever being helpless again caused me to drive myself half mad by constantly setting unattainable goals. If I controlled more variables, set bigger targets and had more irons in the fire, I’d eventually find peace. At least I was able to delude myself by telling myself how productive I was. For a while.

Fear of losing control kept me trapped in the asylum of my own head and mostly disconnected from the wisdom of my body. Instead of being present with my grief, I tried desperately to manage the symptoms of it. Letting myself drop into my body and releasing the illusion of control has been one of the scariest steps I’ve taken.

Fear of the next wave of pain made it hard to enjoy the moments between them. How can I enjoy right now when another wave of intolerable pain can and will blindside me at any moment? At least if I stay in the dumps it won’t be so far to fall when it happens again.

Fear steals so much joy from grievers.

There’s lots of work left for me to do and I’ll do it. The people who didn’t die, including me, deserve it.

I’ll be a grieving dad for the rest of my life because I’ll always love and miss Chloe. I know there will be more painful moments. Some of them will seem too intense to face. But face them, I will. I can accept that and I can promise that between now and then, I won’t live in fear. I’ll live in curiosity, courage, and growth. And when I take a knee, I’ll get back up.

In the meantime I’ll keep writing about grief for men, and the people who love them.

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Fear protects you in ways you can’t see. That was true for me and it might be true for you. I built a totally free tool (no strings attached) called The Gut Check that shows you how your protection works. It takes about ten minutes. If you’re tired, checked out, or not yourself since your loss, start there: grief.tools

And if you love a man who fits that description, the tool works for you too. You can answer the questions about him and get a read on what’s happening behind his silence.

It’s just one griever doing his best to help other people navigating a devastating loss.