My Tragedy - May 20 2012

Before I continue with the story of Willow and all the things that caused us to never work, I would like to share one of the reasons why I hoped that it would. Last year, Willow and I were in the midst of a not-so-hot, average kind of—not really—relationship when tragedy struck. For me, at least. In October 2011, My father became sick, and after being admitted to the hospital and told he would be home in five days, he passed away within a matter of a few days. It was a shock that I had to adjust to in a matter of minutes when the news came.

You know the kind of scene you see in a movie when the doctors sit the family down and tell them the patient will never recover? That is exactly what happens in real life. I had to adjust to the idea of being without my father for the rest of my life in a matter of those ten minutes. I kept looking around, wondering if it was real. Every emotion came flooding in. As the doctor—not so confidently—told us the news, I wanted to rip his hair out of his head. I could feel the burden start to become heavy as their words kept flowing. How am I supposed to tell my brothers and sisters, who were all thousands of miles away, to get on a plane to come say goodbye? How would my mom handle it?

I remember making the phone call to Willow, having a hard time breathing in between my tears and shock, telling him the news of my dad. And that is when I felt the pain, the loss, and the connection with him. He started crying too. You see, Willow knew my dad well and liked him—but everyone loved my dad. This was the second family tragedy we were facing together, the other being on his side, and now he was experiencing that moment of having to help a friend in desperation and sadness.

I will tell you that I was surprised at how much he stepped up during this tragedy for me. I expected him to give his apologies and the standard response of, “Let me know if there is anything I can do.” But that isn’t what happened. He didn’t even ask—he just came and did. He came with my family to the funeral and sat on the front row. He spent the next couple of weeks cheering me up, sent me to a spa, and cooked me dinners.

I will say here that he was not the only one who stepped forward and showed love and kindness at this time. I was in awe of all the people who came forward in a time like this and gave love, sacrifice, and time to me.

As you bond with those who have experienced your tragedy with you, you become closer. You talk of life and what happens after. You learn new things about people, and frankly, he saw me at my absolute worst. But he stood beside me through every single moment, and though I still grieve, I think there was a time limit on that care and emotion he could give—and it expired.

I think that we all naturally would love to maintain a relationship with those who have experienced tragedy with us. (Trama bonding is a thing. I believe this is what happened with my ex-husband and I for other reasons) It is not easy to let go of those who have nurtured and cared for us during our times of desperation. But I think we also must learn that even when someone is here for us through the most unspeakable experience, that may be just what they are there for. That experience. Not all of those who cross our paths will be there at every fork in the road. Some we must let go of, and some are allotted a lifetime with us.

Those are the special ones. The friends or lovers who last beyond the heartache and through the happiest moments of your life. It is also a choice. A relationship—no matter the kind—requires more than one person. You must agree to make it through, and if the other does not feel the same, you must be at peace with closing that chapter and respect yourself enough to find someone else who will give you what you desire.

When my dad died, I felt so many emotions. He was the man in my life that I felt I had been able to count on. The one man who never left. I remember sitting with him or calling him, discussing my frustrations about Willow and asking what I should do. I remember one of the last things my father said in regards to Willow was, “Just let go. Move on. Be a good woman and choose the right.” So that is what I have miserably been trying to do. Sometimes when I need to vent or complain, I miss my dad even more—because he was exactly the one who would have said what I needed to hear.

It has been a fighting battle for me to completely let go of Willow. Though he never really stepped up for me enough to get to marriage, he knew my dad, and that is something I’ve been hanging on to. I did not want to start over with a man who will never get to meet or experience how amazing my dad really was. But even though someone may save your life through an awful experience, it does not always make them qualified to stay the rest of your life.

I know that I am not original, and I am not unique when I share my story of loss. Everyone has experienced some form of loss, and when someone does, it is not always easy to relate, console, or be there for them. Some lose their way, some want to give up, and some move forward better than they were before. Though I have not done well at taking the higher road during these months of grief and loss, I have learned so much. Losing can make you question all that you knew to be true—but sometimes letting go is where you find what you have been missing. I have lost my dad, and I have lost boyfriends. But it does not have to make me a weaker Brittney or an inconsiderate, bitter woman. I still have love and laughter to offer. And as I hope that my father walks with me in these harder moments now, I pray that I will be beautiful to someone—even through my ugly.