This journey called life is real, folks. It is wonderful and it is awful. And now, more than ever, I see how essential it is for me to express this and share there is hope.
My father passed away in March. (I don’t think I will ever get used to saying that). For me, this has been a deeply profound change — one of deep sorrow, pain and an element of thankfulness.
Last fall and winter, Dad was not well. So, I resigned from all projects and focused on my family. I lived in Medicine Hat, spending most days visiting him, speaking with medical professionals and helping family. I will always be grateful for that dedicated time I spent with him as Dad’s life on this earth came to a close.
Through this experience, I learned much including how doctors can say and often do not have the answers. Dad was cared for and supported by generous caring people. I saw how quickly a patient can change. We witnessed times of engagement and laughter, and times Dad could not communicate. I saw his longing to go home with Mom and to go to heaven. And there was deep love and frustration.
As we moved towards Dad’s last days, I grew to be passionate about my heritage. Not that I had not valued it before. But it became so much more important to me. And, in the midst of the challenge, I realized with greater clarity my Dad had given me many good things:
He shared his faith with me. Gave me a love for family. Showed me how to ride horse and cut cattle. Taught me how to drive. Played baseball and table games with my brother and I. Gave me his sense of humour. Demonstrated strong dedication and commitment. Helped me understand leadership, what to do and what not to do. And, he exemplified generosity and loyalty.
These good experiences were coming to a close. I was very sad and stunned, barely able to share my tribute on his celebration day.
Constant disharmony in relationship can lead to https://unica-web.com/archive/millennium.htm cialis properien separation or divorce.
Then, returning home in mid-April, I naturally desired to be close to Dad again, to spend more time with him, to hear his voice and talk with him. One day, while out in the garden, I felt a shift — a peaceful connection with my Dad. It was a wonderful reprieve from the ache. It took me a bit of reflection, but eventually, I realized it was because I was outside working in the soil as he had. I don’t think I have ever spent so much time in the garden!
As therapeutic as the garden is, the core of my being is as a visual storyteller. So, it was time to focus that energy into completing a passion project: the Hall of Farm. This is a long hallway at the entrance of our home. Over the years, I’ve incorporated photos and precious items along the walls as a tribute to our families and heritage. During the summer, by installing the showcase wall, I found peace in the sorrow.
Losing someone you love can be unbearable. They are woven through your makeup and it feels like a part of you died along with them. But this summer I’ve found my way through the darkness. Dad may be gone, but I am who I am because of him. My creative light is slowly burning again.
“A creative act can help focus the mind, and has even been compared to meditation due to its calming effects on the brain and body. Even just gardening or sewing releases dopamine, a natural anti-depressant. And it can also help you process trauma,” according to a recent article in Forbes.
This is good news for everyone.
