Best work, best times, best experiences – where do they live?
Deep in my past, far in some future to be created, or right now?
If I were to predict anything with certainty … I predict I will wake the next morning, live the next day, breath the next breath.
These delicious treats will always be, until the day they are not – then it won’t matter.
I’ve been thinking more about my dad lately. This thinking seems connected to him, memory of him and memory of his death. Nearly 3 months, it feels like yesterday. At the same time it seems like a very sweet, very long time ago.
I wake every morning in the same place he woke.
I sleep every night in the same place he slept.
This place is no longer his home, it is my home.
This writing room, gathering place it seems, where thoughts collide and memories gather, ideas and understanding flung against walls like ripe tomatoes would – cauldron of growth. Rebirth. Still, a sad space some mornings. Sad for what is not here, sad for who is not here. Glad place where memories are stored.
My move, old place to this place, completed.
I dropped off the key yesterday.
I’ve made a place for everything that would fit, left behind excess. Still too many things, too many boxes, too many things in need of discarding.
More lessons to be learned, more lessons to be taught by him – memories to be unearthed here.
Lucky me, I have no siblings to share, or to interfered with any of that.
“Love is so short. Forgetting is so long.” – Pablo Neruda
column written/ published from Calgary
morning walk: 7C/45F, clean, steady north wind has every leaf fluttering, every flag flapping, the sound of the wind accompanied us down empty streets and up tree-debris littered hills, our feet remembering every path without need for the brain to engage, just a man and a dog, just walking and talking in silent conversation…
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