fireweed, and other acts of resilience

I learned something new recently. When fireweed flowers reach the stage of being ‘fluffy’ and turn to cotton, it is a sign that autumn is officially on our doorsteps. The staying goes, “when fireweed turns to cotton, summer will soon be forgotten.” I guess then, that autumn is here.

I did something this evening that I haven’t done in a very long time. I took my camera for a walk. My ‘real’ camera, my Canon EOSM100 digital SLR. I used a 50mm lens, and that’s all I took with me on my journey through the trails with Kane.

Using a real camera made me stop and smell the fireweed, or at least, take a picture of it. There was a crispness in the air, and a strong breeze and dark skies that suggested that we’re having bad weather overnight. Not that I would call rain bad, I really like the sound of it, and especially the smell once the downpour stops.

My blog title spoke about acts of resilience. I’m not sure that I should really refer to what I am doing as an act of resilience, but maybe it is. You will have read in previous posts that my dad died (even saying/typing that sentence still feels surreal to me). I’ve been somewhat absentmindedly, automatically, doing things lately that just remind me of him.

For example, mom cooked smoked salmon and mustard salad for supper. We enjoyed that together with Tetley tea, and buttered bread, and when we were finished we both decided to throw out the leftovers because neither of us would have had an appetite for it a second day in a row. Almost in sync, we both said, “dad wouldn’t like that.” Smoked salmon and mustard salad being one of his very favourite meals.

This week, we’re having a new deck built onto our house. It’s bigger than I anticipated, and looking at it makes me both sad and happy. A big part of the lumber that’s gone into building it is what dad and bought to make a new deck on our old house in St. Lewis. All of those things now gone, but in the end, he still helped me and Jeffrey build our deck, just in a different way. He had wanted to help Jeffrey build it, but it didn’t get to happen. Resilience? maybe just remembrance. I’m trying. As hard as it is, I’m trying.

Every day I wake up and do the same things over and over. I go to work, I cook, I clean, I walk the dogs, shower, I spend time with Jeffrey. But every day there’s this stormcloud that follows me around and reminds me that there’s a piece of me missing, and no matter how busy I make myself, it’s only ever minutes away from raining on me again.

I know all of this is normal. Grief is something you live with, it’s not something you see once and move away from. Losing my dad has been something much bigger than sadness. It has changed the way I experience everyday life. I know he would want me to keep doing my best, and that’s exactly what makes me miss him so much. He always expressed, even in the most subtle ways, how much he loved me and saw me for exactly who I was.

My father’s daughter;
M.