Talk Without Speaking

Time, time, time, what has become of me?

Walked to work this afternoon in the sun (I’m sure I can feel just the little touch of warmth in there) and, as I do so, I realize that it is February 28th. February 28th. As in the day after February 27th. As in the day *after* the four month anniversary of my Dad dying. You may not remember where I was a month ago but I haven’t forgotten. The three month anniversary was hell and that entire week was shaped by the fact of this date looming in front of me.

So, how on earth did I get here? It’s not like I didn’t think about my Dad yesterday. I think about him every day. Every day. But I didn’t think about it being the 4 month anniversary; I didn’t even remember yesterday (although I remembered both this past weekend and today)

I sit here. I look at the computer screen. I’m blank. I don’t know how to explain how I feel nor why I necessarily should. I don’t know how to convey the lack of understanding that I have in my own daily experiences of grief. I am an imperfect war zone of emotion. I am healing and I am happy and I am furious and I am so saddened and I am bitter and I am healing.

There is nothing fair about this. I still can’t remotely believe that this is the way things are meant to be.

All I can tell you is that I am still here. I live and I breathe and I marvel at what I see around me. I walked out to one of the lookouts over Wreck Beach this evening and I love that it is still light. I sit and I watch the light reflect off the ocean. I watch the birds fly by. It is so calming. I sit there until the light fades but it doesn’t make me sad. Instead I have been soothed by the beauty of it all. I don’t know how I can still be me, I just know that I am.