I've Lived a Good Life...

On the last day of our vacation to the Oregon Coast I took the dogs on a long walk on the beach by myself. My dad and I used to take that same walk every morning and talk about life. He seemed to use that time to help gently guide me in the right direction in my career. I never had a pushy father that would tell me what to do with my life. He would instead ask me simple life questions that would force me to ponder my course. It always seemed to redirect my ship and put me back on track. While walking in silence this morning, I spent time talking to him, like I would have any other year. Something that people don’t tell you about the loss of your parents, is that, depending on where you are in life, the silence on the other end of the conversation can sometimes be crippling. You have no way of knowing if you’re on the right path, if they are proud of you. Other significant people in your life can tell you they are proud of you, but the feeling is never the same. Once you accept

When mom was at hospice, we had some hard truthful talks. I told her that I have a special place by the river that I go to talk to dad. It’s a specific log that I sit on, where I can see the rolling river by my house. I asked her where she would like our special spot to be once she passes. She wanted to take some time to think about it and pick the perfect spot. A few days later, out of nowhere, she says, “I’ve picked a spot, the bench by the church”. I of course thought of mom’s home church across the street from their house, and thought, that do-able. Then she elaborated, “you know the stone bench by St Mary’s by the Sea?” I looked at her and smiled, then said “absolutely”. She picked a bench outside of the church at Rockaway Beach, OR, 8 hours away from our hometown. Inside I was laughing so hard. This week my family has returned to Rockaway for our annual trip and my parents have been so present all week. It may be all the residual memories here, or my parents may have decide

Maybe if I say this phrase over and over again, I may actually be able to let some of this seasonal pain go. The fall was my parents favorite time of year. Their walks around the neighborhood with their trusty basset hound got longer and the season provoked the writers spirit in my father. We are in the eye of the storm of memories right now. My mom's cancer discovery happened at the end of August two years ago, and her sun setting from earth occurred on October 21st. I still have trouble during this window. It's hard not letting the feelings of the season remind you of the swift sorrow you experienced. Last year my saving grace was a pottery class my cousin recommended. She jokingly told me it was cheaper than therapy, and it was. I made some crappy pieces of pottery and poured every ounce of emotion into those miss-shaped mugs and bowls. Ironically, I think pottery has helped me center my thoughts, quiet my mind, and soften my sadness. It's funny how different people