More on that

 

This is my start.

True to form my commitment to writing wanes when most would be pouring out emotions, purging them from their bodies. It's a consistent pattern for me. Writing gives thoughts and emotions form. And until I can process and understand them, I am careful about the energy I extend. And to top it off, my creativity and writing muscle freeze during times of great duress and change. 

Before my dad passed, in the months before with the many hospitalizations, I would squeeze him hard, get in my car and cry all the way home. Driving time was crying time. And it was the ugly kind of cry - loud and guttural sobs from the deepest parts of me. I remember thinking that I couldn't imagine going on or living in a world without him. He was one of those people - for which it seemed impossible for them to not exist. And then of course, he transitioned. More on that later.

Today I turned on my laptop for the first time in the almost three weeks I left work. I am retired. More about that later. (There's a theme here).

My big emotions have been frozen since my dad's service. I can feel them deep inside, gathering, swirling, waiting for release. So many events, and gatherings have occurred in the ten months since, with little sign of emotions emerging. I knew that once I start the grief ball in motion, there's no way to know how long it will take and just what that release will look like. 

One of my last projects in my work was organizing a conference. We chose to close it on a hopeful note with a creative presentation by Inuk artist Susan Aglukark. As soon as she flashed the first image of an Inuk child up on the screen, I could feel his spirit within me. He was gleeful, almost giddy over what was transpiring. Tears sprung to my eyes and I struggled to breathe through the constriction in my throat from my Herculean effort to hold back the brewing ugly cry. "Are you kidding me?" I silently whispered. "You're showing up NOW?" The grief was starting to defrost and I couldn't afford a melt down. 

Her voice was ethereal and provided a soundtrack for the memories Dad and I had shared in the North. It reminded me of his love of the North and the people with whom he had formed deep relationships. The North had permeated his very being and left him forever changed. Several times when he had been close to death, fighting for his life, he would hear the drumming and see the Northern Lights. Not one light -- but an entire  colourful light show. 

I am retired now and I am hoping I will find time and space to thoroughly defrost. I plan on exploring the creative juices that are starting to flow. More on that later. 

This is my start.