My father was buried forty-eight years ago today.  That New Jersey day was without greenery or any warmth at all.  It was a cold day as we drove to the cemetery in stark South Brunswick. It was about thirty-five degrees outside; about forty five degrees warmer than the temperature inside me.  I was numb as I watched the grave diggers unceremoniously toss my father’s casket into the ground.   My heart was frozen as I heard the rabbi butcher my father’s name.  The funeral served a function of prolonging my stuck grief and set the stage for years of misery and turmoil.

I was fifteen then and sixty three now.  I smoked Marlboro’s then and no cigarettes now.  I was lost then and found now.  I was in New Jersey then and San Francisco now.  I was sedentary then and running five miles now.

As I head into my third mile, I notice the sky is gray like it was forty eight years ago, but all the trees are filled with bright green leaves and there are multiple-colored flowers everywhere.  I am running as fast as a teenager, but I’m senior citizen age. I remember the days when a dark cloud was always hovering over my head and turned my soul into a battle field.

Those days were behind me now because I have passed through the trauma of my dad’s death. The cloud had now dissipated and the sun was now warming my back. All that suffering, confusion and doubt floated away with the cloud.

I am listening to a new version of What Becomes of the Broken Hearted. The original, sung by Jimmy Ruffin is one of the saddest songs I ever heard.  It captures the state of hopelessness I lived in and out of for several decades.

This new version intensely sung by Otis Clay and Johnny Rawls adds a verse that invokes hope, faith and unlimited possibility.

Suddenly this dirge of a song is changed to one of affirmation by adding just one line:

“Nothing’s gonna stop me now!”

Nothing was stopping me from sprinting with abandon across the city streets.

I felt the high of just being alive in my body when Whitney Houston’s live version of The Greatest Love of All come through the headphones. The part where Whitney holds the beautiful note brings tears to my eyes.

Grief is ever evolving and you never know where your journey will take you. Today I feel warm, safe, hopeful, in love and loved.

This grief journey that started with numbness, moved to despair and gradually I could see the light. Through it all I learned to love myself which of course is the greatest love of all.

Discovery your grief journey here.