2013.05.06 - Longboarding

There's no denying the reality of Dad's dying today. There's no shiva to help absorb the shock of his passing. There's no religious mechanism in place to help the process have deeper meaning or resolution. And today, for the first time, Mary and I didn't spend the entire day together at a nursing home, or on a plane, or at a funeral, or at a shiva or dealing with family matters. She had her own day and I had mine.

And the reality of being alone with my thoughts and emotions hit pretty hard. I had myself of course. And I had my own practice of meditation. And I gave myself "things" to do: returning chairs, returning prayer books, buying a few things for the kitchen that Mary had requested and... I took myself to the movies. Which was a nice distraction, I suppose. But when I walked back out into the light of day, something awkward happened: people were going about their lives. They were shopping, chatting, eating and I couldn't understand how none of them knew about Dad, about his ten-year illness, about his decline, about his death and funeral. They were all just... unaware of him and of me. And I felt a wave overcome me and a bench appeared, so I sat down and just sobbed. And the sadness rolled through me and shook me this way and that for few seconds and then subsided.

But it's just under the surface now. And it's raw and red and simmering. And it's not going away. And there's nothing I can do about that. Which is fine. Because I'm not supposed to do anything about it: I just have to accept it and not fight it. It's bigger than me. I get it. I already know from surfing that no matter how big the wave, no matter which direction it's pushing or charging that there's a sweet spot there in the pocket. And in that spot, perfect harmony is achieved, perfect balance between me and the wave where I don't have to fight it, just simply allow it to propel me.

Of course, there are some days when you look at the water and think, there's no way I'm getting in to something that turbulent. And maybe this is one of those days, but I don't have a choice as to whether or not I get into my own life. I'm here. Dad's not, but I am. My life goes on and the waves continue to drive the way they do. Bigger, steeper waves usually require short boards because they're fast and  maneuverable.

Today, I accept that I'm on a longboard. My turns are slower and less precise but, then again, there's also more room for standing up and finding balance. And for that — at least for the moment — I'm incredibly grateful.