Grief Must Be Witnessed

I first learned about the Andrea Gibson documentary when I heard Salt Then Sour Then Sweet (feat. Brandi Carlile) by Sara Barielles. Sara’s work has been important to me for a long time, since I learned Taylor Swift sang “Brave” on stage with her during the Red tour.

After I watched Come and See Me in the Good Light, I felt strongly that her role in this moment was to teach us how to grieve. I filed it away in my filing cabinet of trauma, patterns, and the New Romantics.

Months passed and my dad died. My father and I didn’t speak before his death, and I’m grateful for that.

At his funeral, my relatives shared stories from my childhood. They shard that he always showed up to my brother’s games. That’s true…he never missed one.

But their retelling danced around the explosive rage you could feel in the stands. They joked about the ways he’d humiliate us and everyone laughed at “what a sense of humor he had.”

I’m positive they didn’t realize how abusive the stories made him sound. “He was complicated,” they’d probably tell you.

Complicated means we don't have to acknowledge the reality. We don't have to witness anything. We can ignore the reality that abuse was as central to our family as a Bloody Mary on Christmas morning.

I sat in the pew and reflected on the stories I would have shared. He was generous, and even warm at times. There were good moments. He was truly funny and he was a good listener. But he wasn’t any of those in the stories they told.

He didn’t deserve a flower eulogy that made him look “good.” But we all deserve to be fully witnessed. We cannot ever be fully loved if we are not fully witnessed.

My father was all of those things, and he was also incredibly abusive. As I increased my tolerance for acknowledging that, I was able to tend to the wounds he caused. The parts I’d exiled for trying to share the truth were able to meet me again. I was able to fully witness him.

I worked and healed until I could acknowledge that I deserved safety and never had it. He wasn’t safe in my life and repair was not a priority for him.

Witnessing also means I can release the need to control the narrative. I don’t have to hide what he was. I don’t have to hide the truth from myself, or anyone else. I can accept what is and what was.

Witnessing him also means I can find pockets of memories to treasure. Not because I owe that to him, but because I deserve it. I can hold the 5 and 9 year old Haleys that were terrified of him, but also loved to laugh with him. I can witness myself when I witness him.

I can validate all the parts of me that need to grieve the father we lost and the one we never had.

Several months ago, I wrote this exact post on Threads. My birth chart means I’m not done witnessing something until I can put it into words.

After I hit post, I opened Instagram to Sara Bareillis in a Rolling Stone interview.