Grief Is Like Glitter

The part of being a clinical mental health counselor I enjoy the most is that my clients help me to grow. I gain strength from their resolve, appreciation from their resilience and smarts from their sharing.

So it was recently when a client mentioned something she remembered hearing from a teacher—that grief is like glitter.

When glitter is first used, it makes a huge mess, getting on everything. When the project that called for it is done, you sweep up the glitter, never quite getting all of it. Over time, and with vacuuming, the glitter appears to have disappeared.

Except that every once in a while, you see a teeny piece of it snagged somewhere.

My dad, a lifelong New Yorker (a truly city guy, by the way; he never learned to drive) and exuberant sports fan, died unexpectedly when I was 22. As a young man, I didn’t really know how to grieve. I simply carried on, missing the letters he’d write to me catching me up on our teams and family news, but not truly comprehending that this force in my life was gone.

In the years that followed, especially after the birth of my children, I began to experience pieces of Dad glitter frequently. Watching my son play so hard at his hockey games despite a size disadvantage. Seeing my daughter’s grace and flair at many a dance recital. More recently, getting to experience the Knicks win a basketball championship. Missing him for those rides. Even if I like to believe he was there each and every time.

Father’s Day is always a glitter moment. I can see one of those pieces sparkling at me right now. Or is that just a tear in my eye?

Whether you get to celebrate with your dad or remember his memory, Happy Father’s Day.

Dad and me outside his dry cleaning store in Manhattan, Summer 1976.