Remembering

This post is inspired by Donna. I got an email from her suggesting that I write a book. She thinks I might have all the right elements that Canadian publishers would want. Canadian perspective, horrific loss, a path to finding balance in a foreign land, great adventures, wild animals, beautiful pictures and amazing insights.

It was the horrific loss part that stopped me. When I saw this is was like some kind of reminder to the depths of the pain I am dealing with. I think one tends to downplay their pain. To be tough. To not burden others. In the process of doing this I think one could easily bury those raw emotions and not properly deal with them. It’s something I am very guilty of. I can compare it to the many sport injuries I have had over the years. I would run through pain as if it wasn’t there. I have a high threshold for pain. I always have. Both physically and emotionally. Suck it up buttercup attitude. Take it, deal with it and move on. Pick yourself back up and keep on playing the game. And play to win. When I saw the words horrific loss, I thought yes I have suffered a horrific loss. And I now know what profound loss feels like. I forget this because I try to be tough. Ironically I have my father to blame for that. He once came to a soccer game and when I rolled my ankle and went down in pain, it was he who shouted from the sidelines “suck it up, get up girl, get back in the game!”

But this skill that I have carried into real life has probably left some if not many injuries not properly healed. And I am here in a foreign land, in one of the most pristine and beautiful places on earth to heal. And part of that will be remembering what I have lost and how that felt and how it feels. Like your soul gently being jolted from your body. And for me part of that healing is writing and sharing and not just about the sunsets and animals, I did have a friend tell me to write more about how I am feeling. And those who read this, my dearest family and friends know that though I am known as “hard to get to know” when I write it is usually in the rawest form. These are the people I feel this unspoken connection to, even though there's not even a word for it. These are the people who I've known forever, who know me in this way that other people can't, because they've seen me change...they've let me change.

There are times when I look up and thank whomever for the time I had and the relationship I had with my father, which most girls could only dream of, this I realize and am grateful. I could tell my father absolutely anything. And I did. And there are times when I look up to whomever one choses to label the great systems of balance and order and I ask, bare none, I beg, for just one more day with him.

In this process of trying to find balance and heal, in this environment where I feel the wind, rain and sunshine as if it were the first time everyday. As if it is my father touching me. After all doesn’t life and death walk hand in hand?

To not think of death daily is like not thinking about life daily which most of us are to busy to do. I know more than ever now that this journey called life is short. Whether a life is 83 years or less, compared to recorded history or eternity it is short. Life must be lived with purpose or it is wasted. It is often said that the dead get put on a pedestal. That in the immense loss, you then tend to idolize them. I try not to do this. My father had his warts and a traditional father he was not, this I am aware of. But he did the best he could with me and not once did I ever doubt his love for me, and really in the end that is all that matters. He touched my life in both positive and negative ways. His soul still touches me with these memories because I trust that memories are soul. I have come to really understand and believe that what we take from this world is based on what we leave in it.

I feel lonely and sad when I think of my father leaving me. The entire process of healing is a learning in itself. People feel strange asking you about it, as if it holds a mirror to where they must face their own mortality and so what I’ve found is most don’t ask. I also feel guilty sometimes. Donna lost a husband and best friend, my brother also lost his father, my grandparents lost a son, my aunt and uncle a brother. Many lost a friend. We are all feeling loss and we all lost someone close. But what I have to remember is that this way of dealing is mine. This is my loss and it is such an individual and personal thing. Each with their own way

In hindsight there were many things that leads me to think my father was completely aware of his own mortality. There were things said to me that he had never said before, and Marissa and I often joked about our fathers getting “mushy” in their old age. He organized things weeks before that he had never organized before. In a recent conversation with him I had mentioned maybe moving to Collingwood, to be closer to him. His response was, that would be lovely one day, but not before you send me pictures from the depths of Africa. Yes he said that. I called him and left him a message the day he died, likely around the same moment. The day he was found,I was completely out of sorts that morning. Had left things at home, and had to go back. Twice. I think we know. Those close, know.

When Kath was here in Moremi last may she had done a photo journal that she had sent out. I had forwarded it to my father in awe and admiration of such a beautiful place and experience. He said, “this is too cool! why don’t you get her to get you in touch with this guy (Graham) and go spend some time there too, this is how you want to experience Africa!” yes he said that I kid you not. Even again a couple of times later when I spoke of potential vacation options. He knew I didn’t want to go to Africa on a typical safari vacation, he knew I wanted to really experience it. I kid you not, he remembered that photo journal, and Moremi several times after that. So when Katherine called me with this opportunity, when I hung up the phone I cried. I cried hard and for a long time. I looked up (as I often do now)and asked my father if this was him. It must be him. This is him telling me that everything is going to be ok. And if there was one thing my father would have done for me, it would have been to help me fulfill my dream of Africa. And who else but one of my best friends to deliver the opportunity. And if that wasn’t enough, once arrived I learnt that Graham too had lost his father, as did Andy. And ironically Andy on the same day of the month as my father. I am in empathetic company.

I am here to heal as well and I must remember this. It is not just on the 18th of every month when I feel deeply sad, this is a daily journey, through Africa, and through the depths of my soul and the soul of my father as I live it. It is the most incredible experience of my life during the most difficult time. So as I look through the lens of my fathers camera and see the beauty before me, I remember things about my father that make me laugh. And how he would sing monty pythons “always look on the bright side of life” as we sailed (albeit poorly) on wednesday nights regatta's in toronto. And I know he would be proud. Probably too proud, to the point of telling all his friends I was a photographer for National Geographic and living just on bread in the bush.... largely exaggerated as he often was, he is proud.