As of June 6th my Papa has been gone for 6 months. I have little patience with people; I have always had a good filter between my brain and my mouth and now it is a straight shot between what I think and what I say. On the one hand, it is good for setting boundaries when necessary, on the other, I have been too snappy. The pain is like a searing presence. It's like going about my day without noticing the mountain in the middle of the path until I run into it again.

Yesterday ended the second week without my Papa. I'm supposed to go to my Mom's house to pick photos for the memorial. I can't sleep; I lay here dreading the thought of letting him go, saying goodbye again. I can't decide if I need more time or if it will be this hard no matter when I look at his pictures.

I live in the redwoods and just took my dogs for a walk. There is a different kind of silence in the woods; the green quiet of mossy age. The trees have been there since before we were ever a hope. That they will be there long after I am gone puts things into a different perspective for awhile. The silence at home is full of the inside of my thoughts.

I spend my days with a hollow ache through the center of my body and a restlessness that shifts and paces inside me. I miss my father; I miss the gentle hum of his spirit, his wry sense of humor, his clean and clear memory of the details of my life.

It took us some time to develop that relationship. After watching each other from a distance (living in the same home) during my childhood, he stepped forward to be more active in my life when I was in my early twenties. He wrote me a poem that… Continue

I am always caught up with a nagging feeling that there is something I should be doing, someone I should be calling to see how they are holding up. My father and I were always the tailors, repairing the family garment, tying threads together. Now it is just me and what feels like loose pieces.

Where do I put the deep affection I have for my father? Affection is to give, to share, becomes lonely and distraught without it's intended. Once love is generated and layered upon itself over time, it is like a being of it's own, breathing with those that share it. I am lonely and distraught; I want this love, this energy to be put to good use in the world in some way. Right now, it is a small caged bird, it's wings fluttering against the bars.

You know how the waves of feelings come over you during these grieving times; one came yesterday, a peaceful one. I felt a sense of gratitude and a feeling of grace that I had/have that degree and quality of relationship with my father. I don't have to wrestle with a sense of regret that there were things that didn't get said or understandings never reached. It is the hollow ache of not having him to talk to or to do art with that is so hard.

When a beloved dog of mine died a few years ago… Continue

My father has been, for many years, the one I called when I needed someone to talk to, the one who always let me know he believed in me. I miss him so incredibly. It has made me realize that I need to make some changes in my life because I have been the soother, the mediator, the caretaker in my family and I find myself with nobody to cry with much of the time.

We are planning his memorial in a few days and that is another painful step in letting him go. I want to honor his memory, carry… Continue