The View From Here (25-06)

By: Justine Chichester

“What we once enjoyed and deeply loved, we can never lose. For all that we love deeply becomes a part of us.” – Helen Keller

My father died early on a Tuesday morning, April 15, 2025. Just two months ago. He had been ill for a little over two years.

As his health continued to decline, I tried as best I could to prepare myself for losing him. Every time I was with him, I kissed his forehead, I held his hand, I rubbed his chest. I tried every second to remind him of how wonderful he was. I told him constantly how much I loved him and how lucky I was to have him as my Dad.

During the two years he was ill, it was sometimes a struggle for me to be present in each medical facility he was in. Traversing the long, hospital hallways with my walker and the difficulty I often have walking, was a definite challenge. Sitting in the ICU rooms for long periods of time can be difficult for most people, but proved to be extremely challenging for me, living with a spinal cord injury and dealing with the extreme nerve pain and paralysis issues I have daily.

One of the many times my Dad was admitted to the hospital after an ER visit, his room was located in another building, separate from the main entrance. My Mom and I had to cross a bridge over the street, just to get there to be with him at his bedside. There weren’t any shortcuts. We had to walk. It was a struggle, and it was painful for me, but I did it and I endured the pain because it was an honor to be there for my Dad, as he was there for me every time I had a surgery or when I was in the hospital. He was, in fact, always there for me in anything and everything else that I needed in my lifetime. And now it was important that I be there for him.

As much as you may try, nothing can possibly prepare you for that moment when you hear your father has left this earth. And nothing can possibly prepare you for everything that comes afterward. Dealing with grief after a loss is at times an insurmountable task. But dealing with grief and living with a disability has proven to be an even more daunting challenge.

I talk a lot now about the before and the after. Before my Dad passed and now, after. Before my Dad passed, I struggled to get out of bed some mornings due to paralysis. Before my Dad passed, I fought every day to move my legs, walk with my walker, help my bladder function properly, live with nerve pain and so many other challenges we as people living with disabilities face and conquer daily.

Now there is an extra layer added to all of that for me. This is the “after” I am now experiencing. After his passing, I am living with grief on top of living with a disability. The sadness of missing him. The realization that he’s no longer here with me. It is a debilitating, indescribable pain. There have been times in the past two months that I could not get out of bed because I just didn’t want to face the world. I could not face a world that existed without my Dad in it. I was simultaneously experiencing the pain of loss and feeling the physical pain of my disability, and some days it became so overwhelming that I could not even move.

My solution in dealing with it all, so far, has been to give myself grace. If all I can do in a day is move from the bedroom to the kitchen, and then lay back down again, that is okay for. For now. I’m learning

that this is the process. If the pain I’m experiencing that day is too overwhelming, it is okay to give myself the time to rest. And give myself the space to grieve.

And that, I believe, is a valuable lesson for us all. Because all of us will experience grief in one way or another in our lifetime. Whether it is the loss of a loved one, the loss of one’s mobility or the loss of a life you once knew and were familiar with. And some of us will have the extreme challenge of dealing with all of these life-altering events at the same time. But if we allow ourselves the time and the space, and most importantly, the grace to grieve our loss at our own pace, it may just make the process of moving through all of the pain a little less severe.