on the the farm…. Nov. 2019
There are certain before and after events in life, funerals are one of those. I came back to the farm as my father’s health declined. I thought how lucky we are to share one more season, then at the end of September and the beginning of Fall, my father passed.
One of the first memories I had with my father was sitting beside him in a dusty combine, a sense of pride as he listened intently to the story of a tiger I read aloud to him. At the end I was able to sit beside him and read to him as he laid in the hospital. One of the last memories I have with him is reading to him in that hospital room. The childish stories of running tigers replaced with parables of birds from Asian lore.
To Breath and Sit are lessons I have learned in dealing with depression and anxiety. These are tools and gifts from teachers in my past. Though that was before, I carry those lessons with me. To sit and breath, to be; a simple practice that helps carry me.
There was a time when I would carry an artists book, writing poems and sketching upon bar tops. I’d often give that book out, let others fill the pages, share their thoughts.
As we laid my father to rest, it warmed me to think of the very special people I have met, wondrous teachers. Taking notes then, as now.
When we start with loss, we have space to grow.