February 2025 changed my life forever. I had often heard people talk about the pain of losing a loved one, but until this year, I had never lost anyone close to me.
Feb. 12 started off as a regular day until my dad, Robert Graves, who had been ill, fell. My mom called me to help him get back in bed, as she had in the past. This became routine. But the 12th proved to be gravely different. As my dad lay there, he indicated that he wanted to sit up because he could not breathe. Then he looked at me and he said needed to lay down now. I didn’t know those were the last words my dad would speak to me.
For 45 years, he served as my model of what a man should be in a woman’s life. To work hard for his family and love unconditionally. I saw him and my mother share a love straight out of the fairytales. It wasn’t always easy, but they always had each other. His passing opened my eyes to a new normal that is taking some time to acclimate myself to. What I realize is that my heart may never completely heal from the void left from his passing.
I know the healing journey I am on is one many have taken, and if I can provide any guidance about how to make that journey easier, then that is what I seek to do. We need to understand that we cannot allow grief to keep us from moving forward. The pain makes you feel like you don’t want to go on, but a nagging voice in the back of your head says you must.
I never thought that February day would be the last time I would see my dad. As I watched the EMTs work on him, I knew in my heart that he was tired. I knew he was gone, but I knew the kind of heart he had. I knew in the afterlife he would be reunited with those who had gone on before him. More importantly, he wouldn’t be in pain or have any issues with his memory. He would be made whole. It is a pure dialectical tension that death allows some people to be recreated whole, but it leaves those behind more broken than they have ever experienced.
Many well-meaning people say things like “you’re going to be OK, your life must go on, or the person who left you would want you to be happy.” Those things may be true, but at first you can’t see that far. The light at the end of that tunnel has been extinguished and you are in the dark, alone without hope for better days. Your heart may know you will survive the loss, but your mind and soul long for some sense of normalcy. No one can tell you how long to mourn. It’s a journey each person has to take. People often say everything that happens in your life is a blessing or it’s a lesson. But those trite responses can hurt.
The passing of my father has offered a few lessons I would like to share.
Lesson No. 1: Maximize the time you have with the people you love. We all have the hustle and bustle of work and serving our communities, but never forget to show up for those who have always shown up for you. One day it may be too late.
Lesson No. 2: Always tell those you love that you love them, because tomorrow is not promised. You have to choose to tell them that you love them today.
Lesson No. 3: Give people flowers while they are still living. Many times, you watch people sacrifice things for you, take care of you instead of taking care of themselves, give so much yet receive so little appreciation in return. Make it your mission to say “thank you.” Always let people know how much you appreciate them.
Lesson No. 4: Don’t allow grief to keep you from achieving your goals. Those who you have lost would want you to keep achieving.
Lesson No. 5: No one can tell you how to grieve. It is a process and you have to handle it the way you see fit. There are no rights or wrongs. There are no directions or instructions.
Losing my dad was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to endure. I have attempted to surround myself with people who love me for me—not the activist or community worker, but just Melodie. People I can cry with, laugh with and grow stronger with because of their support. These five lessons won’t take away the pain. But they can ease the hurt. They allow me to gain the courage to get through even the lowest valleys. My dad taught me so many things. I had the honor to eulogize my father, and I was able to send my Superman home to glory.
The Call this time is to be alert to the needs of those around you. Sometimes just listening can be the thing you can provide to someone who is grieving. Sometimes you don’t even have to talk to them. Just sitting with them in the quiet can soothe a grieving person’s soul. Allow them to feel all their emotions without judgment, just love. Allow their journey of healing to be exactly what they need, when they need it.
I dedicate this article to my daddy, Robert L. Graves, my Superman. I am eternally grateful for the opportunity to be your daughter, and I will continue doing everything in my power to make you proud of me. I love you, Dad, and I always will.
