My dad had these phrases and sayings he would just randomly shout out, as if he had Tourette’s Syndrome, except he didn’t. Without that as an excuse, I guess you could say he was just weird. When I was dating Rob, Dad shouted “Mesothelioma!” from his office, thanks to relentless lawyer commercials about compensating Mesothelioma patients. Anyway, Rob jumped and looked at me like, “What the frick is happening, here?” And all I could do was shrug. He’d yell “Annie!” whenever I was home, and various endearing nicknames for my mom. It was as common to me as butter on toast. And, believe it or not, it was what made him so charming, funny and quirky.
Again, weird.
He used to shout the title of a 70s movie called, “They Call Me Mr. Tibbs!” — I know, WEIRD. When our new home first flooded (those of you may recall that nonsense in We’ll Laugh About This Someday), my dad offered to install baseboards for us to save some money. I can still hear the loud rumble of the air compressor, the “ka chick!” every time he shot a nail into the baseboard shoe. And while I was folding laundry, or doing some writing, I’d periodically hear him sing some Elvis tunes, then out of nowhere, “Call me Mr. Tibbs!”
Weird.
Lucy was maybe 3 or 4 years old at the time, and she’d follow him around, helping him by getting in his way, and with her body snuggled up to him and her nose close to his, she asked, “What you doing now, Mr. Tibbs?”
Dad’s laugh was so loud it boomed through the entire house and he called me down to tell me what happened. We laughed and laughed, and then every month or so we’d reminisce the moment with each other and say, “What you doing now, Mr. Tibbs?”
Yesterday, as I walked down my stairs, I looked at the baseboard right at the spot the hilarious event occurred, and I shouted unconsciously, “Call me Mr. Tibbs!” in Dad’s same booming voice.
Then, I fell apart.
Gripped, with the realization I’d never hear him again. It’s odd, and I really struggle to explain it, but I know my dad is gone. I’m not in denial. But sometimes it’s a shock to me that THAT dad is gone. The one shooting nails into my baseboards. Humming Elvis, shouting lines from old movies. I mean, my God, where did he go?
My unexpected sobs surprised me, I thought I had been doing well, considering. But I had to look it right in the eye— grief has been lurking under the surface and it’s demanding my attention. Of course, that’s no surprise to anyone who has lost a loved one, but in the bustle of life, it’s easy to suppress, not pay it any mind.
Grief isn’t the only emotion that works this way. Stress, depression, anger, worry, resentment, exhaustion, lack of purpose, lack of direction, disappointment, fear of the future. It’s like a shark, circling us underneath the water, while our legs are pumping like little ducks. Above the surface, we’re throwing a beach ball to our kids, holding a drink, laughing with friends. Above the surface, we can breathe.
But what lurks beneath is still real, and subconsciously, at least—we know when the shark is circling. And that internal knowing is draining us, slowly, emotionally, spiritually, physically. The “Jaws” theme song, dunnnn, dun, dunnnn, dun, vibrating in our body, but our ears can’t quite hear the sound.
Thank God, though— this shark doesn’t want to kill us. I know it feels like it, but don’t be afraid. It just wants our attention—it wants us to get off the pool floatie and wrestle with it. Hug it. Soothe it. Punch it in the jaw, karate chop it’s fin, do something! No, no. It doesn’t want to kill us, but if we dismiss it one more time, it just might consume us.
There are some emotions in life we need to face and grapple to the ground. To pray, to activate our faith, to take action, and move forward. There are others, like grief, that are valleys and simply need to be traveled through. There’s no map, no estimated time of arrival. It will take what it takes, as long as it takes. And that’s fine with me, I guess. Beautiful, even, if you think about it. But during the parts of this journey where I must traverse deep waters, the last thing I want to do is risk drowning by distractions, wading in place, because I refuse to swim to shore with what lurks beneath.
I have to be tender to myself. I must be extra careful not to chase every butterfly until I’m lost. I mustn’t overfill my plate, be too ambitious for the sake of something to do. I want to relish life, immerse myself in the joys of it, and continue to take great care in the work of my hands. But I mustn’t forget to slow down. I need to make time, jock for elbow room. Leave white space, margins.
To take a deep breath in. Then, submerge.
To swim,
with the shark.
xx
Have we met? I’m Anna Lind Thomas, a humor writer out of Omaha, Nebraska. I’m on the shortlist of USA Today’s top ten funniest women writers, and author of the best selling book We’ll Laugh About This (Someday) and my latest - I’m Not Ready for This. I perform hilarious and inspirational speeches (and readings) regularly at both secular and Christian events. Reach out to book me for your next event here, and don’t forget to say hi on Facebook and Instagram.