Talk Without Speaking

Well, I’m still here although I haven’t felt like writing terribly much this last week. Five months has brought me to yet another place I am unfamiliar with. It seems that the frequency of grief changes but the depth of it deepens, at least for me. I’ve been a bit more reflective this past week and I find myself asking myself the same question over and over. My cousin’s husband said that the only good thing to be said about a prolonged death is that you have the time to say anything you want to. My dad died so very very suddenly and I ask myself, “What would I have said had I had more time?”

I honestly had no time. My brain was still trying to process that this was happening…something that is still very much occurring 5 months later. I still have moments where I’m saying, “Did this really happen?” And I don’t know the truth.

I’ve been swimming my grief away. Ok, perhaps not away. I’m been swimming my grief into manageability having been in the pool 6 out of the last 7 days. The only reason I wasn’t in there again today (the outdoor UBC pool opens today! - woohoo!) was that I had my first kayak guiding gig of the season which ended up being helping to train another guide.

My father’s last words to me were, “Seize the day” and I had to admit to myself, as I floated, cheerily, in the pouring rain that I was doing just that. It might not be your idea of seizing the day but it is among mine. The seals poke their faces out and look at you curiously. The sea birds sail by you in flocks, or come in for a splashy landing into the ocean. My kayak cuts though the “soft” water, a description of the rain-beaten ocean given by Martin; an accurate description that could only be given by someone with as much kayaking experience as he has - the water, indeed, feels softer.

It was great to be out on the water and yet still these moments strike me. The only consolation is that I was so soaked that the tears just blended in with the rain.