So, its fall, approaching November. I always have a sink this time of year. The anniversary of my Dad’s death, the holidays and what they look like without him, and with divorce and what expectations I have vs what actually is. It seems to settle down onto me every year at this time now, and on january first, it begins to go away. a new year, a new time to figure out where and when and how I’m going to experience the next one.
And I do think there is something to the veil being thin this time of year. The veil between the living and the dead. I do. And I’m sorry if this is not where you want reading to be going for you today. Feel free to skip to the end and sign out. I’m thinking about my dad on a daily basis, and its good, and sad, and i feel lonely most days, in one way or another.
I’m working lately with a friend’s dad, who is in need of companionship while his body is slowly leaving us. He’s a great guy, and he is thoughtul and loving and adoring of his children. Last time I was there he kissed my hand like I was some kind of princess. We laugh a good amount. He is undergoing radiation currently and will often fall asleep as we are talking. I have a book nearby for those moments.
He reminds me a lot of my dad. And my dad’s death. And my dad dying was part of why i knew i’d need to change my marriage, or leave it, and try and look for more than what I had. The sadnesses of this season are many. And I am getting better each year, and have been getting better for many years.
I’m learning a hell of a lot; about insurance, medicare, slow things, grip tape, pill boxes, ideal situations, and less than. I’m seeing the toll it takes on families to adjust, to negotiate health and wellness of parents, as parents, as well as sibling relationships, guilt, one’s own mortality, and just the overflow of grief, while still being alltogether here and responsible for the freaking laundry.
My friends and I are entering into this season, in all sorts of ways, and I just hold us all in this sort of beach towel swaddle, a warm respite from the chill of the waters. A mother’s comfort.
may we all find it, when we look for it.
love love,
kate
Big warm hug! I’ve been feeling this too.. Keep dreaming about my parents
I agree; there’s always a tinge of melancholy attached to this time of year. It’s a time of drawing inward, being alone in the softness and reaching out to others in a gentle way. Ed baked apple strudel and made mushroom soup as his response. I went to the police station to go over their budget for the town. Both good. It’s the hyggelig time of year in Denmark: comfort, feeling at home, cozy. We turn inward with smaller gatherings to enjoy good food and good company to cheer us up. Then the holidays are upon us and it’s the new year before you know it.
I agree with you, and believe the veil is thin this time of year. I have also thought of it is as time folding over on itself. As I experience the present holiday season, I’m also walking old paths again in my mind and heart. It makes me miss loved ones who are gone, as well as dreams that are gone. And now I experience the holidays with the melancholy of knowing I’m in a season of lasts, as my kids are becoming adults and moving out — and with the sadness of knowing some things I always hoped for will never come to pass. I guess it’s the whole “ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future” thing, really. They all visit me, and all make me tearful whether I’m feeling happy or sad.
If the veil is thin, maybe we still have more chances to say, “I love you,” and “I’m sorry,” and “Thank you” to our loved ones who have gone.
I hope some long-forgotten memories of your dad pop into your head and give you a bit of happiness.
Love,
Fern from diagnosis: urine, way back when
woah, fern. you speak it well., i’m so glad you did. ( and woah, blast from way back when indeed. 🙂 )
Years of epic sadness beginning Oct 15, my Mother’s death. Endless exhaustion trying to create, replicate what only my Mom could manifest while simultaneously running desperately from gatherings, traditions, memories – home. 22 years later in the midst of grief that remains I find boundless color and beauty in the gifts of her that remain and gatherings free from the lunacy of replication. Ever so thankful for time, the mystery that is grief, time, changing seasons, healing and an abundance of gratitude for what was. Share the stories. Make the cookies. Hang the balls.
Carol Oz
This is so beautifully written and honest. Holding you in the light my friend. You’re pure gold. ❤️
Love to you. This post is really lovely and resonant.