Springtime

It's been a busy academic year, teaching on overload, reconfiguring all lecture materials into smartclassroom formats, and all with the veil of grief. I am seeing the light at the end of the academic tunnel, only to realize I had agreed to teach the university's "intercession' rather than summer session I. Bummer. I have only a week's turnaround time between end of semester and starting the intercession--which is a compressed class, four days a week for 2.5 hours a day. Not complaining really. Work is good for me. I am productive, focused, and it keeps me engaged intellectually. My heart is TOO easily engaged, still...so it waits for me to clear the calendar.  And so when June rolls around, it is officially "heart time."
Finally addressing the boxes of things from my father's house, choosing where to put them, if to keep them, and how to store them.  I will have the time to fall apart as I touch his love letters to my mother, because i know I will read every single one of them again. And the throws, the ones my mom loved to snuggle under, they're here, too. My father's beautiful cameras, the "real" one with the chip that captured the last two years of his life, through his eyes. Getting ready to get the chip "developed" and sent to my sister and our aunt.
I have put off grieving, in a way. I chose to return from sabbatical and dig in--teaching a big overload--to keep my focused on the present moment. Perhaps that is pushing grief aside, but I could not function with my grief. I promised my heart it will have all summer. My heart is definitely ready for its opportunity. Thank god my own chronic physical pain has been addressed to a manageable level, and this gives me the courage to allow my grief its part in this process of reclaiming my life as mine. I dedicated my life to my parents during the many years of their consecutive and ultimately fatal illnesses.  I feel good that I did that.  And now. it is time for me. Look at every item, touch every item, smell it, relive the memories associated with each thing, and then mindfully craft a place for it to be. So that my house is mine again. Mine and Karl's.
I anticipate being a mess during the summer. It will be the first time since my father's death that I can devote my mind, body, and spirit to whatever grieving I still need to do. It's a lot, because I haven't done very much. For good or not, I had to get myself through the academic year successfully. And now I am almost done.

My garden was abandoned last summer....detritus still there, evidencing my neglect. This summer will be different I hope. I can't believe how much different I feel in a year's time; a year and four months' time.  I , finally, feel some fledgling wings wiggling under the surface of my skin. I look to the sky and imagine.

Many of my beloved friends are in the flow of change. I hope that our friendship vibes, so connected to each other, will help the others along, so we can help each other through and out, to maintain peace, to step out in a new life. It is on these friends I focus my energy, because it comes back to me threefold. My father had friends like that, friends that uplifted him and were ready to party and have fun; these same friends sat at the hospital everynight, and eventually became the pall bearers to Dad's final resting place. Their goodness, and true friendship extended my father's life. My niece and nephew extended his life too, as did my sister and I. What an honor, what a position I gladly served.

Our house is still a mess, although I am sleeping in my actual bed. This has been so a long time, thanks to a friend who came over to help me wade through things, donating clothes I knew I'd never wear again: the things I wore at the hospital for those three weeks, and then during the next four months on the road. It's paper work. On all flat surfaces. It feels so insignificant that I don't even want to bother with it. I have enough paper with teaching that I don't want to touch or acknowledge any more. Now that we're having some work done at the house, we need to break out of our pattern and find true homes for necessary paper in our lives. Will a new kitchen help bring back my appetite and interest in food? Don't know.  I know I can't afford to lose much more weight.; I'm at my lowest, 97lbs, but I am only a tiny thing at 5 feet tall.

My sister has done an about face! She is going to launch a new career, and I wish her success and happiness. And if she needs me, I hope to be there for her. I, too, am trying to do something new, but slowly and mindfully this transition will be. I know what I want, I think I can achieve it, I just need to DO IT. It involves a change of scenery, though, and we're not a united front on this part. I know my parents always wanted us to be successful and happy, and my sister and I really want to be both, in our own ways. This will be a wonderful homage to both parents, as they, for many years, had jobs that were just a paycheck and health insurance for our family. It's scary jumping off a known ledge, wondering what the landing will be like, how far down will it be, and whether or not to expect broken bones....
Flying blind without my parents--that's what it feels like--because they'd be the ones to whom I'd talk about something of this magnitude. Same with my sister. Hopefully we can talk to each other...we may be on our way. I'd really like that.  I want to LOVE my life. And live it in gratitude. I do, I do now--live in gratitude; many times a day I say it aloud or to my heart, the things I'm thankful for. My wishes are still too timid to be enunciated aloud. Someday I'll find that voice, and the wings that feel like they're sprouting will be ready for me. I look forward to that day.