A Dream

In my dream, we were walking your land and discussing the future of the land and your hopes of it benefiting the family. In my dream you knew you were going to die, that it was going to happen on a specific date and that you were tending to everything best as you could. It was nice to be with you again. I've missed you. Our last time together was actually walking your land and talking about your dreams for it. I thank you for that walk and your words, and a part of me knew something was special about it because I gave you the time to talk and think and share during the walk. I'm glad I honored you as you shared your dream with me.

Then the dream shifted into a holiday dinner with the Hunt family and everyone was IM-ing about when the food would be ready. The only food the sounded good in my dream were the veggies that my father-in-law had prepared. I guess I'm hungry.

One Word

I was supposedly co-hosting a gathering yesterday with my dear friend. Instead I found myself stumbling over my own fears and watery darkness, all because of one word. The word spoken does not matter but hit me to my core, and challenged my living light. It still does. It was more than the word that came, for I remembered.

I remembered the way my father would always put his work down, saying it was not this or that, too much or too little, but never good or even good enough. In his mind he was never good enough. At a young age my father's life was physically limited due to a logging accident. This changed his outlook forever, for what he wanted was no longer physically possible. A very harsh reality for a young teen. My father also had his father, and one told me that he remembered may two times when he received praise from his dad. My dad grew up not feeling enough, not having a sense of fullness when he truly accomplished something worthwhile, always second rate or worse, never good enough.

So I grew up with that mentality as well. Like my son, I echo whatever is the strongest energy is the space that I am in. My father was the dominate energy in my life, though my mother was the dominate parent. And because of my father's deep deep seated pattern of poor self-esteem, I, too, have the same pattern. But I am aware of the my power to change my patterns. I don't feel trapped. But I do feel my depths.

My depths... once I go there, I keep going. Where all the thoughts of my shadow emerge, taunting me, racing to drag me down even more. It's not depression, it's beyond depression. It's the depths of one's shadow, the darkness within. All the thoughts, emotions, and energetic experiences of one's lifetime(s), pooling together to create shadow and light. And I am being drawn down into my shadow

But what I don't fear is the trip. I know, with experience, that my shadow only yields light, and I am living light. I am not afraid to be in my shadow. I spoke of it last night, one of the few times I spoke- heal yourself and you heal the world. I am going into shadow to heal myself, and my world. I am ready and I am doing it.

I was immensely thankful that my co-host could carry the energy of the group. I was taken back by the word and I had to go inward. I am thankful, very thankful, for my dear friend and her wisdom and power. It was a gift to be in her energy last night.

I Miss You

As the day of your burial draws near, I find my emotions are getting more intense. I MISS YOU.

Dear Dad

I've been good. Really good. I am ready to make the wall hangings with your clothes. I know of two maybe three that are ready to be made. There was a point a few weeks ago, a turning point, where the intense bitterness was released. Instead of wanting to smash your picture in anger and sorrow, I wanted to hug it. I might even be ready to watch some video of you.

Love you dad.

Harsh

No magic on any plane of existence can return you to us. Nothing. Nothing ever in this lifetime can restore my father. A gaping hole in my heart yearns for your voice, your plaid shirts, your long ambling figure striding off into the tall green...and nothing can fill that hole. Nothing.
Not ever.

A harsh reality. I am left standing alone screaming into the wind, begging to have this nightmare end. I've been in this position before, when my best friend died several years ago. My heart has barely healed from that death. And will never fully heal from any loss of such importance. Two blows. It's no wonder why my heart is having palpitations.

What is healing...is healing lessening of pain but not the fullness of joy....is healing forgetting the trauma but lingering in longing....my healing is never to know that fullness but to find other paths to joy.

What was it like...putting the rope around your neck...taking your last breaths...feeling us as your left...the final beats of your heart...

Were you already gone, just a shell barely mobile to prove that life can exists in a human body without a soul.... why....

Why did you choose that day? Why could you not heal yourself..why did you have to get sick... I know the answers but I want to know WHY. Why did my dad have to be one of 5000 to get sick. Why did nothing help him. Why why why.

I know. I can talk up a storm and convince myself of anything to be comfortable. But sometimes I am angry that my dad's joy and life was taken from him by a fuckin pill. A stupid fucking pill.

Over 20 years that pill's damage increased and took you further and further from us. Stronger was your yearning for death, release from the unyielding pain and depression from the pain.

How I wish I could've healed you.

I scream inside at the frustration from not having been more helpful. What if I had done this or that... oh the what ifs.... and the why nots...

Shit. I'm just angry. I hate not being able to leave everyone and everything when I need time alone. I wish I could travel alone for a time, finding answers in winds far off...but my time is needed at home. I shut out my grief to paste a smile on my face and turn off my pain to keep from breaking crock pots on the floor.

Fake. All fake.

Grief is like a plague. I'm surviving but will never forget.

understanding

After talking with Karla today about how we feel and what we remember, I had to take some time outside and let my heart process the pain of our conversation. She and I talked about your depression, your deep painful sorrow that consumed you in the end. Your illness robbed you of your joy. It left nothing but pain, slowly but surely stripping away every glimmer of hope left in your heart. In the end, there was nothing left for you, nothing that could've kept you here. Nothing. Not even the birth of our babies was enough to help you stay. Your sorrow was obvious. Your pain was obvious. Your desire for death was obvious. I don't understand why Karla didn't see it like I did. I knew you would succeed in finding relief through death. I knew you wanted to go. You were a hollow man, and nothing could fill the great void of pain with anything but more pain.

I had offered to help you in the simple way of my shamanic healing techniques. I don't think you understood what I was offering but I do think you knew I understood how you felt. Everyone but me clung to your life like there was no other option. But their unwillingness to let you go caused you even more pain, because you held on for so long. And pain is a part of life. Because of your death I have more love. Because of your death I have more life.

There is no blame, for anyone. We just did what we did, and live with those choices we must. I have some guilt, but it is pointless. I did what I had to. I just wish I could've helped you find your joy again. Even with all that I can do, it wasn't enough. And it's okay.

I thought about buying you a card today for father's day. I think I still will. Even though you're gone from this world, you're forever in my heart. And I will always honor my father in my heart.

How I miss you.

Do Your Magic

Maybe from your vantage in the tide of afterlife, you could somehow work some magic and grow mom a money tree.

I can't come up with $1200 every month. I got lucky with having IRS refund remnants in my savings account.

Maybe Totoro has money tree seeds that he can send over on the cat bus. The full moon is a good time to plant.

Blank

It sucks that you're dead. It sucks that mom doesn't have enough money to make ends meet. It sucks that she has four adult children depending on her for their financial needs (not all of the time but most of the time)(ranging from 18-27). It sucks that my younger brothers are so unhelpful around the house. It sucks that my mom doesn't know how to say no and it sucks that my siblings don't respect my mother more and don't ask for help.

It sucks that I'm stressed out about money. It sucks that I'm angry at my siblings for being financial leeches on my mother. It sucks that social security doesn't do shit when you're dead. And it sucks that money doesn't grow on trees.

Most of all, it sucks that you're dead.

Dear Dad

It is mom's impression that you were planning to leave after you tied up a few loose ends. Last night I had a conversation with her about the timing of your death. She said that when she interacted with you on Friday (the day dad died), that you didn't make eye contact but once. She also said that your brother, Brad, said that you talked in such a way when you helped him get the load of wood out, it made him realize after you died that you were tying up loose ends. Mom also thinks you stayed longer than you planned, probably because of Hunter.

Having this conversation with her has helped me feel better about your death. Just a little. And that little bit helps a lot.

Lola was the last person to talk with you before you died. I didn't know that. (Lola is Karla's 18-month old). Lola was being held by mom when Sam was outside trying to revive you. Mom was on the phone with 911, holding Lola, and asking questions to Sam as he cut you down and gave you CPR. Lola went to stay with Adam and his family that night, because the grieving was too intense for her to be around. Lola's mom was in labor and gave birth 6 hours after you died.

I think about all of what my family went through- Jake driving into Duluth to tell Karla and Matt that you died (I talked with Jake before he arrived at the hospital), Grace, Mom and Sam dealing with your body and the immediate grief, and me, at home, making a circle of stones and going into sacred space, holding space for them, and for me. I could sense that you were present during Hunter's birth. I could see you with them, with him. I felt such anxiety over Karla finding out about your death before Hunter was born. I had more grief for her grief, than my own. The idea of my sister's birth being dimmed by your death really hurt. It is still one of the most sorrowful parts of the whole ordeal.

Your funeral was well attended. Over 200 people came. The church was full to the brim, back to the stage. I wanted to wear something that reminded me of you. I chose a shirt that looked like an agate. I wanted to find an agate necklace but nothing struck me as being right. Ryan willingly went with me while I tried to find the right pieces. Hugging Nahni brought me comfort, over and over, snuggling her in close.

When we went to see your body at the funeral home, the house was cold and dark. Dreary. All of us were afraid to look. All of use looked and supported those that hard a harder time. All of us cried when we looked, some with external tears, all with internal tears. The look in everyone's eyes, red-rimmed and puffy, spoke of their struggle. The struggle to believe, the struggle to cope, the struggle to remain whole.

Your body lay on a table, and dressed in what mom wanted for you, what was sacred according to your church standing. Your body was decomposing, face mostly unrecognizable due to discoloring and swelling- except we saw you in your profile. Eyes were closed, hands resting alongside your torso. There were faint signs of blood on your face by your mouth from the cause of death and on your left hand, from the burn earlier that week.

Dead. Every day your absence hurts more, because there is no earthly or other power that can bring you back. Physical death is forever.

How I long to go home, to walk in the pines, and remember happier days, when you were here, walking with me. Our last walk was through those pines. They remember all, and hold your spirit within their rustling needles and solid trunks.

Spirit isn't enough. Yet that's all there is.

Dear Dad

I had a very emotional dream about you last night. You were real as can be, all but in the flesh, and that just was what I wanted the most- to hug you. You reminded me that you're always with me, but sometimes spirit isn't enough. Sometimes spirit sucks.

I've been very sad today that you're gone. In a desperate-t0-wake-up-from-this-dream kind of sorrow. Because it's not a dream. And it never will be.

There's nothing more to say. Forever longing for the lost father. Forever human. Forever spirit.

I love you dad.

Dear Dad

Man stands alone. I used this phrase whenever you had to go and do your thing outside. My dad used an outhouse and the woods for most of his bathroom needs throughout his life. He grew up in the woods and spent as much time as possible outdoors. He was one of the few true woodsmen left, the kind you'd read about in louis l' amour books.

Man stands alone. This morning I wonder how alone you felt, with your rare illness caused by tainted medication. I wonder about your anger and your frustration, not only from your illness but your injuries throughout your life. Your ability to feel and show your true self was very limited in the end. Always through a fog of pain and medication did you see and feel. Always tainted in the end.

What you gave us, is nothing short of a miracle. When the EMS doc in San Diego said out of the ones he'd met that you were the only one that hadn't become a drug addict, was still married, and still alive, it showed us what a rare breed you were indeed. I'm glad you never became a drug addict, and never left us. I just wish we could've found a cure for your illness.

In the late 80's my father took medication that was tainted with impurities that caused a degenerative nerve condition called EMS. It is what caused him to take his life. Some people think it was depression but it was the never ending pain from EMS that drove my father to his end.

As the sun rises and the new day dawns, I revel in my human body, and my human experience. I am tremendously thankful for my human experiences and for all the range of emotion that comes with it. Depth of heart.

And I am thankful for my man stands alone kind of father. What a unique man to have for my father. EMS and all. I love you dad.

Dear Dad

Over and over I write to you in my head. Letters upon letters. Conversations to the past, of the past, present, and future.

My heart swims in longing for your rugged diesel and spruce scented clothing, the sound of wood thudding against the galvanized tub in mom's kitchen as you loaded the wood in, the soft tones of your guitar as you strummed a new tune, and the scratchy stubble of your lovely face as you leaned in close while giving a long hug. All these memories, forever held close to my heart.

Part of me holds back, afraid of the pain that comes from such an intense loss. I do not have the personal space right now to grieve. I have the tools, but not the space. I am not ready to go deep. Part of my scoffs at my fear of pain, but part of me knows that when I'm ready, I'll go into my heartspace and do the deep feeling, and the deep healing. I feel then we'll be together in spirit. Right now, it's even painful to feel your spirit, so far off and so different. But so beautiful. I just miss you, deeply and sadly so.

I cannot bear to look at the clothes within the black plastic bags. With a lighthearted attempt I try to peek in and end up in a ball of tears and anguish. I cannot deny my tears. But I deny the depth of my human heart. I've had some heart palpitations in the past few weeks, a physical reminder to tend to the spiritual and emotional needs of my being. Spirit manifests physical.

Sometimes I get angry when other people talk about their dads. I get angry that people don't understand or respect my pain. I get angry that I have pain.

But then I try to find my joy. I try to remember the light of the past, and let it balance the grief of the present. I try to find balance.

You are so far away. So beyond this lifetime. I sense such a freedom of your spirit, the joy of traveling with no limitations. Spirit is non-linear. I love your freedom. I honor your choice and your joy at your present state.

To anyone stopping by- All are welcome to read my writings. Thank's for visiting.

Dear Dad

I'm sitting here with my littlest one, the one you never got to hold in person. I don't feel as sad right now. I was able to release a lot of anger and fear a few nights ago. Ryan's been wearing your jeans. They're a bit short but they look nice. Somehow I both like and dislike seeing him wear your jeans. It hurts to know they'll never be on you again, but it's good to see them regardless.

Nahni is seven weeks old. There's something comforting knowing you did see pictures of her. A part of me will always wish you would've waited until Hunter came. He's so beautiful. I know you saw him being born and met his spirit. But it's just not the same. It's just one of those unresolved aspects of your passing.

I write to you, many times a day. I just don't write here. I think about you, when the wind blows and I hear rustling leaves, or when we drive by wooded swamps. I think about you when I see tracks in the snow, and when I hear a someone strumming an acoutical guitar. I smiled when I looked at a picture of you yesterday. It made me happy to see your face.

I love you.

Dear Dad

I feel quite unsettled today. Not emotionally, but physically, like I only exist in my head. When I thought of what you would say to help that disconnectedness, I heard "Go outside and take a walk". Going outside must have helped you tremendously. It gave you enough clarity and peace to keep going. And it was where you found your peace in the end. It's been one month since you left your body. We all miss you. But I'm happy that you're no longer in pain.

I think I'll go outside and take a walk today. Thanks to my father-in-law, I now have access to land that feels somewhat like my home, and perhaps I'll go walk that later tonight with my drum. I have a drum waiting to be made- with elk hide on a 15" frame. It has your energy in it and the energy of my experience with your passing. I think the drum will come during the next new moon.

I miss you.

Dear Dad

One of our last conversations was about your exercise plans. You talked about how you wanted to regain lost strength and be as strong and as lean as you were 25 years ago. I cautioned you to work out sensibly and honor your 50 year old body and it's limitations, rather than to expect your body to be capable of what it was 25 years ago. I think what your body was capable of in general is amazing. The amount of physical labor you endured and delighted in when possible was intense at the very least.

As a little girl, I loved walking behind you, always 5 feet or more to avoid the brush whiplash, because I loved watching your gait and listening to your soft footsteps. Now, as an adult, I know what you are, you are an earth shaman and woodsman. It's my explanation for the way you connected and communicated with the world around you. Everything you did with nature and your woodwork had a spritual essence to it, because it was spiritual. The wood spoke to you as you carved and shaped it to fit into your master design. The grass and trees spoke to you as you wound your way through them following a path only walked by deer. The lake spoke to you, easing your pain and fear, reconnecting you to your heart. And the earth yielded her treasures to you, delighting in your depth and appreciation of her gifts.

In the end, your physical body was ready to leave, and your spiritual body was ready for change. All is as it should be.

Dear Dad

I wasn't sure if I wanted to create this website just yet. It came to me yesterday that I needed a forum to communicate to you and a webjournal is right up my alley. Even though you'll never read these words, I still feel a part of this will reach you, if just the love I have for you. It's been a day less a month since you passed away. Some things are harder for me now, such as looking at your picture, and thinking about mom being alone. Some things are easier, such as singing your songs and thinking about my children not having you around anymore. And I miss you just as much if not more.

We're all having a beautiful evening. The kids and Ryan are watching a muppet dvd. I'm taking some quiet time. My children are so big. Little Nahni is so big and strong. She's five weeks old now. I wish you could've met her before you died. It's one of the sadest points in my grieving process. I understand your timing, I really do. I also understand so much about your life and appreciate all that you were able to do and give. You are my hero, dear father, and I am incredibly thankful and blessed to have you for my father.

Everyday is beautiful. I have much in my life that is because of you. My appreciation for hard work, for the beauty of nature, the joy of playing with my children, the love of good pancakes, and so much more. Every day I am blessed because of you.

I don't wish you were still here and in the physical form you were in. I am glad for your peace and freedom. But I still miss you, terribly so. Somedays I'm angry, and just angry- not at you or anyone. And somedays I'm just sad. I'm not hiding my feelings and am trying to find peaceful means to exploring my grief, and honoring my process. I asked Ryan for a big boom drum from Hoveys for my birthday. Something I can beat long and hard instead of breaking my floor with a crock pot. I also wish you could've seen our kitchen. I think you would've liked it.

There's much left to be desired since you passed. I will always miss you, but am glad you're free. I love you dad.