Grief With Direction

 How do you explain a year of grief when it's also been a year of growth?    

    On February 13, 2025, my grandfather, Roger Dunham, met Jesus at the Gates of Heaven. The day before, our whole family gathered at the hospital and said our final goodbyes. Their pastor, Michael Ten Eyke, surrounded us with prayer and song. Grandpa's favorite songs, specifically Amazing Grace, My Chains Are Gone, filled the room, along with sniffles from quiet sobs and silence in between verses. He was surrounded by his family and was visited by many community members. 

    I remember the day like it was yesterday; however, I can't help but also feel like it's been years since then. One of the final things I told my grandpa was that Alex, my then-boyfriend of 2 years, and I wanted to get married. One year later, our wedding is 22 days away. Man, I wish you could be there, but I'll be saving you a seat, along with Grandma Lois and Grandpa John, and Alex's grandpas, Nick and Harold. My biggest blessing is that Grandma Char will be there in the front row, with a special message during our ceremony. Most know this, but Grandma had an unruptured brain aneurysm, and the surgeon was able to remove the risk of it rupturing. We definitely all stayed a little longer at Thanksgiving and Christmas, knowing they could've been our last if the procedure had gone differently. This would've made Grandpa happy; he loved when the family came out to the farm. At Christmas, we even busted out the old hayride wagon. My dad manned the tractor, and Jason, grandpa's right-hand man, replaced the hay bales and tightened the bolts. 

    Something Grandpa Rog never gave up on was encouraging me to return to college and earn a degree I genuinely wanted. He saw that nursing didn't work out for me and that I had reached the milestone of earning my Associate's Degree, but he knew I wasn't quite satisfied, and he was right about that. I didn't know which of my passions could get me back to school and make it worth the money and time. It took some time, but I was ignited by art. I've always been, but now it's more about creating for others rather than for myself. I returned to college at Lindenwood University as a Graphic Design major. I'm in my second semester, and my estimated graduation date is May of 2028. I'm seeing progress in my drawing class, learning to use Adobe Illustrator and Photoshop for design, and this time I'm doing it the right way. I'm putting in the hours each week, writing the 800-word papers for English, and learning art techniques I'll use in my personal and career work down the road. Grandpa would be proud that I returned to school. 

    He'd be proud of the mindset shift I've had with the health cards I've been dealt. For 10 years, I've been diagnosed with Celiac Disease, and I was supposed to follow a strict Gluten-Free diet since I was 13 years old. If you know me, you know I did not. I rebelled against my body and ate how I wanted, without restrictions. In fact, I have a letter from Grandpa Rog that he wrote to me while I was at a week-long summer camp for Type 1 Diabetics the summer after being diagnosed with Celiac. He tried from that letter on to get me to take my health seriously with a reminder that you only get one life, and I shouldn't waste it.  It only took me TEN whole years to pull my head out of my ass and realize I should want to do it for my future family. On October 13, 2025, I decided it was time to go 100% Gluten-Free so that I could have clear skin for our upcoming wedding. For 123 days, I haven't (willingly) eaten gluten. Even through the holidays and wedding preparation, I didn't give in. Grandpa would be proud that I'm taking it seriously now —for the sake of our children and because I want them to grow up with a healthy mom. He'd be especially proud of Alex for standing by me and following a GF diet, also. As much as I can't wait for the day I get to see all those who are in heaven, I can't wait to see our kids grow up and know the family line they came from. 

In the past year, Alex and I have moved twice. The first move was the hardest because we had to sell Grandma's house and the land. Sami, our dog, lost her freedom and big yard (she also gained 20 lbs). We moved away from the cemeteries that held the gravestones of three of my grandparents, which I visited often. I had to say goodbye to the kids I had grown bonds with while working as a paraprofessional at the same school I grew up in. Later in August, we sold all of Grandpa's farm equipment, and it all became so real and permanent. While the move hurt, it was essential for our timeline. 

    We moved to St. Louis; Alex started a job at an engineering firm, and I was preparing for the fall semester to begin. We lived in Kirkwood, where everything is more expensive, and the people there could smell outsiders (like us). After 5 months of constant construction work in the basement, the house we were living in was ready to be put on the market. (We knew going into it that this house was temporary.) In November, we moved to the opposite side of Lindbergh into our fourth house in Florissant, where hearing gunshots is a regular occurrence, and things are a bit cheaper. Who knows how long we'll be here, but each house has grown us into the little family we are, and I'll soon share a last name with my best friend. Our family tree will continue to grow: from Richardson and Dunham, to Kelley, to Trautvetter. 

    So, my question still lingers: How do you explain a year of grief when it's also been a year of growth? 

    Losing Grandpa Rog made me appreciate and value my time as a CNA and the knowledge I gained from the three semesters of nursing school. I was able to spend so much time with him as a granddaughter and a caregiver. He let me see his most vulnerable side, which is something I'll always respect. His final days included lots of family time and essential conversations that I'm so glad I had with him.

    I still haven't listened to the 42-minute "interview" that I recorded on February 6, exactly one week before his final day. I hope I can finally listen to it today. In the past twelve months, I've honored my grandparents in ways that impact my future. After Grandma Lois passed, I thought I needed to be close to home, but after Grandpa's passing, I realized I needed to live for ME, my future husband, for our future babies. 

    I don't take time for granted anymore. I see sunsets and know that Grandpa painted the sky. I stop dead in my tracks and feel a tug on my heart, and I just start praying. I hear songs that remind me of the good childhood that my brother and I had. I go through school with a new appreciation for education and the ability to learn. I'm thankful for all the lessons I've learned and the struggles that I've felt. Finally, my answer to the lingering question:

 Maybe growth is just grief with direction.