I Threw the Plant Away

If you lose a loved one, they give you a plant. It's kind of like when your parents go on vacation and bring you back a t-shirt. "Oh, your Dad died? Here's a plant." Now don't get me wrong, I could not have been more thankful for all of the flowers and plants and cards and outpourings of love from people when I lost my Dad. I do not in any way want to seem ungrateful. I just will never forget when the funeral was over and life was back to "normal" and I looked in the corner of my dining room and I had...a plant. I was simultaneously reminded of how loved I felt during the time of my Dad's loss and how catastrophic my loss was. I was so thankful  for people who had thought of my family and given to us during that time. And I was devastated that in place of a Daddy hug and Daddy advice, I had a plant.

The truth is, it could have been a plaque, a casserole dish, or a piece of jewelry. There just isn't a "thing" that can replace a person. And of course, that isn't the point. It's not there to replace them, just to comfort you. To remind you of that person and those who loved you through their loss. I came to love my plant. I don't exactly have a green thumb or the best history with plants. I always say that I won't buy plants because it is premeditated murder, but I made sure to care for that plant. I called it my Resurrection  plant because there were times it would start to look pretty bad, but it would always come back. Well, over the last month or so, I couldn't get it back. It was gone. But I also couldn't bring myself to throw it out. So it sat in it's pretty little planter in my dining room, a sad, shriveled up mess. This week, I finally threw it away. 

It was a little symbolic that it happened this week. There is no holiday that makes me think of my Dad more than Thanksgiving. It represents everything my Dad loved-food, family and football. His birthday is also next Saturday and so that just adds to my feeling that Thanksgiving was his holiday. When I was still at home he would always wake me up to watch the Rose Bowl Parade because he knew I loved it. Last Thanksgiving we went to my sister's house and, as I did with all holidays last year, I went into overdrive trying to plan things to stay busy and doing my best to do anything but really deal with the reality of our first holidays without him. This year, it won't be so easy. We will soon be leaving for Mississippi to visit family. And my Dad's grave. I just felt sick to my stomach writing that. Because my Dad has a grave and a headstone and instead of trying to figure out what to get him for his birthday I'm trying to decide if I should take something to place on his grave. This will be my first time to visit the cemetery since we buried him, almost two years ago. I've been dreading it for months. Trying to prepare myself. Wondering how it will feel. Not really wanting to know how it will feel. 

The truth is, my Dad is gone. And that is a reality I've been dealing with for two years. It's something I know every time I go to Panama City and don't see him, every time I want to call him and I can't, and every time I post a pic of my kids on FB and he doesn't comment and say that they are his beautiful grandchildren. But in the craziness of life I have no choice but to keep going, keep moving and as Elisabeth Elliot said, "Do the next thing".

As I put my plant in the trash and prepared my heart to visit my Dad's grave I felt that was the message spoken to me. It's time to do the next thing. Does that mean that I will magically stop grieving or mourning my Dad? Nope. As each day passes I've just realized that his absence in my life will be felt stronger and stronger. There will be more he misses out on, more I want to talk to him about, more I wish I could tell him. Daddy's are not easily forgotten or replaced. Not the kind that I had. Not the kind who make sure you stay safe, make sure you stay happy, and make sure you feel like you matter to somebody on this earth. It truly is a loss, and there are no special words or amount of time that makes that better. But, as birthdays and holidays and anniversaries approach (and the seem to all be at the same time for my Dad), it is tempting to dwell on the ache in my heart. It is tempting to overlook all of the many good things in my life and focus on this one loss. It is tempting to shrivel up like that plant and hide in the corner. Thankfully, I have a Heavenly Father who does a much better job of caring for me than I did that plant. I am counting on Him to keep me not just going, but growing. 

A poem quoted by Elisabeth Elliot
Do The Next Thing

 "At an old English parsonage down by the sea,
there came in the twilight a message to me.
Its quaint Saxon legend deeply engraven
that, as it seems to me, teaching from heaven.
And all through the hours the quiet words ring,
like a low inspiration, 'Do the next thing.'
Many a questioning, many a fear,
many a doubt hath its quieting here.
Moment by moment, let down from heaven,
time, opportunity, guidance are given.
Fear not tomorrow, child of the King,
trust that with Jesus, do the next thing.
Do it immediately, do it with prayer,
do it reliantly, casting all care.
Do it with reverence, tracing His hand,
who placed it before thee with earnest command.
Stayed on omnipotence, safe 'neath His wing,
leave all resultings, do the next thing.
Looking to Jesus, ever serener,
working or suffering be thy demeanor,
in His dear presence, the rest of His calm,
the light of His countenance, be thy psalm.
Do the next thing."