Latest / YOUR AVERAGE DELTON / EPISODE 4: The Impossible Mirror
Transcript
- DELTON DEAL: Hey guys, welcome back to the average don. This is a space where we discuss real life, real loss, and the things that we carry that most people never see. No filters, no pretending, just truth. Now, these first few episodes will largely focus on my journey to getting to this space and where my perspectives come from. I'm gonna bring guests in a little later on so we can get a wide variety of those perspectives also. Now, there are some journeys in this life that don't just tire you out. They don't just make you weary, they strip you down. Until there's nothing left really of who you used to be. They break your spirit into a thousand jagged pieces that never quite, you know, fit back together the same way. Now unfortunately I got to watch my bride take a journey for two years. I watched her walk into the dark, suffocating tunnel of her dad, her world, her person, her daily heartbeat. And I watched that tunnel collapse on her slowly. Day by day. Now we talk about losing someone, but we don't talk about the violent, agonizing work of watching them be taken. You know, her dad was in heart failure, eighth it. And the doctors kept feeding her this, I don't know, poison of hope. they call them small issues. I mean, they they gave her a list of things she could fix as if it, you know, was a math problem that she could solve if only she worked hard enough or studied hard enough. I mean, so She does what most people do, she fought. She poured her entire spirit into the space between him. And the grave. And while she was screaming at God, I mean literally screaming at God, demanding to know why the one person who made her feel safe was being extinguished. She was forced in that time to do what, you know, we think is unthinkable. She had to stand in a room, pick out a casket. She had to touch the lining of a box where her favorite person was going to rest while he was still warm, while he's still breathing, while he's looking at her in her eyes, wanting nothing more than time. This isn't a difficult situation. It's a spiritual crucifixion, really. To be the keeper of this hope while also being the architect of a funeral. It tears a hold in your soul that no one prepares you for. This is there's just no book. There's just no help guide. At the moment you realize your daily conversation with the voice that anchored you your entire life is being replaced. By permanent, definite silence. So if you're listening today, and you feel like you're drowning. Hear this. There is no right way to do death. There's no graceful way to have your heart just ripped out. There is no correct way to be angry at God who feels silent. So you know, we want there to be rules so we can feel in control. You know, I've learned through time that death is lawless. It's the hardest, most brutal journey a human can take. And no, you didn't fail because you couldn't save him. You didn't fail because you were angry. You didn't fail because you had to plan for the end while he was still fighting for the beginning. You know, at the end of this, there's no solving the journey of death. We all live long enough, we're all gonna get there, but there are is this raw bleeding courage of staying until that very last second. And here's the thing, if you're broken, let yourself be broken. There's no other way to be when you're losing your world. You know, and all I could do is watch. I stood there watching her disappear for two years. I don't remember her sleeping, I don't remember a single day her eyes were dry. Grief didn't hit her all at once. I mean, this this drains you slowly. It's almost piece by piece until there's almost, I mean, literally, there's almost nothing left. Because everything she had, every ounce of energy, every breath was being poured into her person, her rock, her foundation, her savior, if you will. And there's a kind of helplessness no one talks about, the kind where you can't fix it. You you know, you y you wanna carry it for her, you wanna trade places, and all you can do is hold her while she breaks. All I could do is pray with her to a God that feels like he isn't listening. And in those moments you don't feel strong. You feel useless. Like love should be enough to save her. It just isn't. This is hard. You know, there is a question that shows up after all this. Not not doing the chaos, not doing the hospital visits, not while you're still in survival mode. it shows up in the quiet when the calls stop, when people stop calling, when the room feels To steal when the world keeps moving and yours doesn't. The question isn't simple. They never are, but it's terrifying. Where do I go from here? Nobody prepares you for the after. They don't tell you that this real battle sometimes starts when it's all over, when everybody's gone back to their life, when the role you've been playing of caretaker, fighter, protector, all of a sudden it disappears. And now you're left standing there. Not knowing who you are without what just left. How you kip your sanity. When grief doesn't leave. Janges shape. You're not supposed to bounce back. That idea is a lie. I mean, we tell people, because we're uncomfortable with pain, you you'll bounce back. You don't bounce back. you're losing your world. You learn how to carry it. some days it's lighter, maybe. Some days it crushes you all over again. And there you are. But you have to know that's not failure. That grief is doing exactly what grief does. You have to give your pain somewhere to go because if you don't, it will stay inside you. And then we're turning to something else: anger, numbness, isolation. The pain just continues. So talk about them. Say their name out loud. Scream if you have to, not because it fixes anything, but because silence makes it worse. Take care of your body. Even when your mind doesn't care anymore, grief lives in your body. It shows up in exhaustion, in headaches. In that constant tightness in your chest. So do the small things, not because it feels meaningful. But because staying alive is your responsibility, you have to find a way to still participate, to keep a piece of them with you without losing yourself. That's balance. They mattered. They still matter. But your life, your story didn't end when theirs did. And I know that feels wrong to hear cruel to say. Like moving forward means leaving them behind, but it doesn't. Moving forward is how you carry them properly. It's how you honor them without disappearing too. Folks, I know that was a lot. that's all I have for today. If this spoke to you, please share it. I make sure you hit the subscribe button. That's the only way I know you were here. And as always, I'd like to leave you with this. How do I say goodbye? To what we've had the good times that made us laugh outweighed the bad I thought we'd get to see forever, but forever's gone away. It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday. Guys, this is your average Dalton. Out.