Real Hearts and Real Hurt

Last week Mr. Michael DeLaureal passed away. He was a long time benefactor of the Franciscan Study Abroad program, a dear member of the community here in Gaming, and a close personal friend of many faculty members. He suffered long and hard from many types of terminal cancer. We were all given the honor of attending his funeral Mass, scheduled at noon today, when we would normally have our daily Mass. It was a beautiful service.

Today is also my daddy’s birthday.

He died nine months and twenty-two days ago.

I miss him.

Some hurts are complicated; I should know. I’ve had my fair share of them. This one isn’t like that. It is simple, hard, and real. There really isn’t much to say, and even if there were words, it’s not something that a lot of people could understand. That’s ok.

Losing someone is an interesting thing. It’s a hurt that is always there, but not always aching. Something is always missing, but life is not incomplete. Time stops but the clocks keep ticking. The whole world is irrevocably changed, and hardly anyone notices. The earth keeps spinning, and despite the times it feels completely broken, your heart keeps beating.

For a long time I was convinced that I would have to live the rest of my life with a hole inside of me. Each person is totally unique, and so is the space that they occupy in your heart. When that person leaves, no other human will ever fill emptiness. It’s not possible. I knew that, and I resigned myself to carrying it. Never really laughing. Never really breathing. Just being. Every moment had an undercurrent of pain. If I was happy, it was only because I was ignoring the hole. As soon as I was alone, it would be back, and it would hurt all the more for having been neglected. I was never bitter, just sore.

That’s not the way it’s supposed to be.

It was months after my dad died that I was able to pull myself far enough out of… well, myself… enough to let God work. He waited for me for a long time. I had been holding on to the pain, terrified that letting go would mean I was losing the last bit of my dad that I still had. I said goodbye. I cried. Hard. For hours. It wasn’t a pretty sight. God made it beautiful. He poured His grace and love into the hole. He filled the emptiness that no other human could ever fill. I laugh, and I live, and I love, and all of it is real. I am blessed, and I am grateful.

In all of this, there is still an undeniable truth. Something is radically different. My dad is still missing. I can’t call him and talk to him. I can’t tell him about school, or household, or Europe. I can’t hear his voice. I can’t hold his hand, or hug him, or kiss his cheek. He won’t see me graduate. He won’t walk me down the aisle, give me away, or dance with me at my wedding. He won’t get a chance to spoil his grandchildren.

These things are all real, and they all hurt. They hurt a lot. Sometimes, out of absolutely nowhere and for no apparent reason, I want to cry. I don’t mean I randomly break down. I don’t do that. There are just sometimes that it hurts and I want to cry about it. Sometimes, usually when I’m alone, I do. I cry and life goes on. I keep living. God keeps loving. He keeps teaching me how to love Him back, and love the rest of the world for His sake. He makes me happy. Truly happy.

Today at the funeral, there was a little girl who was crying. Her mom leaned over to comfort her and said “It’s a good kind of sad.”. She is a wise woman. Sometimes things hurt, but it doesn’t stop there. There is hope. This life seems so long, but it will be over in a moment. We worry about so much, and never about the right things. If we aren’t careful, we’ll spend this tiny bit of life we’ve been given wrapped up in what we’ve lost or never had at the expense of the blessings that are right in front of us. We have been given so much. So much love, and so many to love.

Part of me aches when I think about my daddy. I miss him, and I will spend the rest of this life missing him. The love between a daddy and his little girl is something that can never be replaced. That’s ok. I have a Father who never leaves, and His promises are my Hope. He has walked me through the Valley of Death, and He has taught me. I have grown and learned, and I see things that I would never have seen before. I am grateful.

Bring me joy. Bring me peace. Bring the chance to be free. Bring me anything that brings You glory. I know there’ll be days when this life brings me pain, but if that’s what it takes to praise You, Jesus, bring the rain.