Two weeks ago the call came, my Dad had died. It's been a whirlwind of hurried trip planning, arrangements, family, and goodbyes.
Now that I'm back in the quietness of my home, every moment is accentuated with a memory of Dad. As I write this, I'm watching the sunrise on the cove and the fish are jumping. Dad loved to fish, but I don't think he did as much of it as he talked about doing.
What has caught me by surprise is the realization that I no longer have a living parent. The two people who created me, who loved me from the time they knew I existed as a possibility, who held my hand from my first moments, are gone now. I know they loved me, but to no longer have the physical presence of love is an aloneness that is difficult to explain.
It is a strange feeling I wasn't prepared for.
Just as the earth turns to find the sun again and the day is illuminated with brilliant color, so it is with this darkness. Rays of light create hues that aren't seen any other time. This is a treasured moment of peace and reflection. Mist rises off the water and dew forms on the grass, reminding me that tears are a natural gift of cleansing. The day comes to life. Fish jump, birds flit about, flowers open all reaching for the warmth and light of the sun. I reach to my faith in the Creator for the same.
The work of the day begins just as it does every day. Somehow there is comfort in this knowing that life goes on around me. It sends me into a familiar groove to go on with my life. Then comes a moment that the familiar is changed by Dad's absence, I pause and decide how to fill that hole, then move forward. It is a slow, arduous process. The road will never be smooth, but it will be better for taking the time at each place.
So, as I walk through another darkness of life, there is hope here too.
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