A HOPEFUL HEART â—½ YOU
When Good-Bye Meets Grace
by Christina Oberon
This month marks one year since losing my dad. His departure from this earth on Christmas morning still haunts me some days and fills the approaching holidays with a silent dread. I’ve often thought about how grief causes you to think of someone every single day, when, if you’re honest, you didn’t always do so while they were alive. Why is that?
This time last year, my sister and I traveled across the world to Thailand to sit beside our dad in the hospital as his body rapidly declined. We couldn’t have a conversation with him, his memory and speech had already been taken by the brain tumor that showed no mercy. We couldn't take him outside, either. He had lost the ability to sit or walk. My dad loved to walk everywhere, to explore, to wander, to discover. He loved freedom. Seeing him confined to a bed broke something in me. When my sister and I left Thailand, I remember staring out the airplane window letting the tears fall, feeling helpless in leaving my dad behind, knowing he would soon be leaving us forever. It was only a matter of time.
At the start of this year, the grief consumed me, draining both my mental and physical strength. As the months went on, I found my footing again, but certain days like my birthday, his birthday, Father's Day, and even the changing seasons, all brought me back to that initial
ache of loss. Sometimes, reminders appeared unexpectedly: a bird chirping, the number seven, his name, a meal, a joke or a phrase he used to say... and I'm caught between feeling a sweet fondness or a deep sorrow.
In this first year of grief, I’ve learned some things about grief itself and about myself. Grief doesn’t follow a timeline. It moves in waves, either soft and steady, or crashing without warning. There are days it feels lighter, and others when the ache returns as if no time has passed at all. I’ve learned that healing doesn’t mean forgetting. I keep finding new ways to carry love forward.
I’ve learned that grief changes you. It has deepened my empathy, reshaped my priorities, and taught me to slow down and notice life's fragile beauty. It's made me more aware of time, how fleeting it is, and how precious every moment truly becomes once you've lost someone you love. And I’ve learned that God meets us in grief. Not always with answers, but with presence. In the moments when I miss my dad the most, I've felt God's comfort reminding me that love doesn't end at the grave. It continues, just differently.
This first year has been one of tears and tenderness, and also remembering and rebuilding. I still miss him so much, especially as Christmas approaches. I can still hear him saying, "Happy Christmas!" in his cheerful British accent. Christmas was his favorite and now, it feels forever entwined with his memory. I wish I could have one more conversation and hear his voice again. I wonder what life updates he would have to share. But I also carry gratitude for the father I had for a time, for the memories we shared, and for the promise that this goodbye isn't forever.
My dad may be gone from this world, but I'm not fatherless. I rest in the love of my Heavenly Father, who remains constant and close.