It’s been several months since I’ve written anything on my blog and I apologize to my loyal followers for the long absence. It was just recently that I realized that I haven’t been able to write a thing since after my father passed. I tried to think about what other than the depth of grief you feel over the loss of someone who gave you life would keep me from picking up a pen. I’ve been to numerous open mic events, recited some of my poems and my creativity has been fueled by the multitude of talented and gifted artists that I’ve heard over the past few months. I celebrated my birthday this entire month even though my born date was on the 20th, and I haven’t isolated from friends or family, so why is it I don’t feel inspired to write?

And what I believe the answer is has something to do with control. Normally when I write, I know what I’m going to say, I know what picture I will use and usually how it will end all before I sit down at my laptop. I am in full control for the most part. Yet grief does not lend itself to such consistency. Grief is less predictable than an ocean wave, and  just as powerful when it hits. I can almost assure you that it will rear it’s ugly head a week or so before any major holiday and the birthdays of my parents who were born two days apart. And then sometimes it is equally as unpredictable. Sometimes I feel passionate about something (or someone) and I feel the urge to write and a piece of mail comes through my doorway with his name on it, or I need to take care of his last cable bill, and I lose the urge to create. As the administrator of my father’s will, I have numerous  duties  to perform which alone can be exhausting. My daughter struggles with closure after his sudden death and I sink deep into grief for a while as I empathize and help her to understand and honor his transition. And it think it hurts a little deeper when I look around and see that not only are both my parents gone, but both sets of grandparents as well, and grief tells me that I’m all alone. Ebbs and flows..ups and downs..highs and lows..around and around. When will it end? I don’t know but I have begun to pray for the willingness to let go of my high expectations for myself. I pray for the strength to bounce back from this sudden and profound loss; that I don’t have to do it perfectly or feel happy to write, and that it’s okay to feel what I feel for however long I need to feel it. And I can take the time to heal from it all and I’m worth it.

I am writing now from a beautiful beach home that I’m sharing with some family and friends, listening to the waves crash as I summon my dad’s spirit to guide me and encourage me. I wasn’t sure at first about sharing a house with a dozen people, but somehow the combination of the calm and the chaos awakened my spirit. And the love and laughter abound as a warm healing balm for my soul.

So I don’t have anything fabulously witty or poetic to write just yet, but I am thankful that once again I am writing, and that is a huge step in the right direction for me. Just for today, I am moving forward remembering that it’s progress, not perfection.