Grief, One Year In

On May 25, 2018, Rachael burst into the bedroom a little after 6:30 AM sobbing, “Chris…your dad…he died!”

I didn’t cry in that moment. I stared at the ceiling in a daze. Time stood still. The shock cauterized my emotions and fogged my mind. Here a load-bearing wall in the Davis house had unexpectedly, impossibly collapsed and all I could do was watch blankly.

The Grief Begins

The intense tears came three months later. As I launched out for a personal 24-hour retreat, I had enough distance from family and church to prevent me from ignoring the reality any longer. Dad’s sudden death sat next to me in the car, an unwelcome yet undeniable passenger. I knew I had to acknowledge it, but I could not. I knew I had to say something to Dad, but I could not. So, in a move that, in retrospect, sounds so embarrassing that it could not have been premeditated, I blasted Adele’s “Hello” on repeat until I could turn to the empty seat and, through a flood of tears, say that simple word. Hello. It’s me. Suddenly “Hello from the other side” took on a new meaning, and thus the grieving began.

At the advice of a fellow griever, I joined a GriefShare group that afforded me two hours each week to talk about Dad, learn about grief, and intentionally not ignore this dramatic loss. I joined a Facebook group called “Parent Loss Grief Support Group.” I started listening to a podcast called GriefCast. In all of these I learned that everyone grieves differently; that grief consumes large amounts of mental, emotional, and physical reserves; that time does not heal all wounds, but healthy processing can; that I needed to be kind to myself; that I was not alone.

Retracing My Steps

As the one year mark has drawn near, I have retraced the steps of my final conversations with Dad. Last April during my trip to West Virginia we shared nostalgia-laced memories of our 1979 Bonneville after I providentially saw the lady to whom he donated it at the Charleston mall. He also encouraged me regarding my article about power that The Gospel Coalition published that day. So when I returned to West Virginia this April, now driving Dad’s van, I went to the same mall, parked in the same spot, and ate the same meal at Chick-fil-A and got Sophia the same cup of Dippin’ Dots.

Likewise with Mother’s Day, when we had our last long conversation before he died. I took the kids to the Air and Space Museum and called Mama on the drive home. Last year, typically, I talked to Mama for about 10 minutes then Dad for 45 (the minimum of any conversation with him). So this year I repeated the same trip with the kids on Mother’s Day then called Mama, this time for 45 minutes.

Why this nearly compulsive drive to retrace my steps? I suppose I was trying to permanently tether the soundtrack of Dad’s voice to those places by revisiting them. There is a stairwell in Charleston, WV where I heard him tell me how proud he was of my courage and insight. There is a stretch of interstate between the Dulles museum and my house where his report from a doctor’s visit communicated how thoroughly he cared about Mama’s health (if not his own). Now I couldn’t visit those places without hearing him any more than I could watch Sylvester Stallone run through the streets of Philadelphia without hearing the Rocky theme.

New Places, New Soundtrack

A year ago I spent my day off attempting to comprehend that my dad was dead while helping Rachael pack up the family ASAP for the unexpected drive to Atlanta. This year I didn’t know exactly how I would spend the day, only that I felt the need to drive. So after a good cry with Rachael I launched out on the George Washington Parkway to see what the day would bring. As soon as I passed Reagan National Airport I knew I needed to stop in honor of Captain Davis. I sat on a bench at Gravelly Point Park and read the verses he last opened his Bible to as the jets took off overhead. Included in that text is Psalm 37:18–”The Lord knoweth the days of the upright; And their inheritance shall be forever.”

My next stop turned out to be a soccer field in Langley. Dad coached my soccer teams for at least eight years, so it felt like an appropriate place to reflect. I pulled out the 3×5 note cards we found on the table where Dad had his SPQT–Secret Place Quiet Time with God. The cards reflect Dad’s insatiably curious and creative mind (Is there such a thing as a “wrong number” phone call when God directs our steps? Can I truly give another my “undivided attention” if I live with an awareness of God?), his knack for metaphor (a smudge on the glasses–distractions in life from God’s kingdom; spiritual “aromatherapy”–inhaling the essence of Christ; the secret place–a bubble of heaven), and his emphases in his quiet time with God (praying the model prayer, giving thanks, singing praises, resting unhurried in God’s presence, and speaking God’s truth to himself as he looked in a mirror–”out loud and in ‘your’ face, back through own eyes to own soul!”).

Perhaps the most poignant card, dated 4.5 months before he died, asked, “If @67 the ‘end’ is in sight <@70, per Psalm 90:10> what to do with the remaining three years?” His answer:

1. Serve God – love with all heart, soul, strength, being, and essence
2. Minister to Lucie and family and others
3. Convey truth

The Road Ahead

I don’t know what the next year of grief will bring. The ambushes can be so unexpected that speculation is pointless. But as I look at our family one year in, I know Dad would be proud of us. He would be proud of how harmonious our interactions have been. He would be proud of how well we, especially Danny and Angela, are taking care of Mama. He would be proud that we cleaned out and sold the house. He would be proud that the stories we tell our kids about him are about the character of Christ lived out in an imperfect man.

I miss my dad. We all do. But there have been enough moments of grace along the way that I know, with more of God’s grace, we can do another year. Then another, then another until we see one another, made whole and new, never to be parted again.

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