Grief & Creative Expression

As mentioned in the second post here at http://www.e-hhw.com/ (20Jan2011), creative expression is a healing and restorative process—recognized in the medical community as therapeutically viable. As the demise of my father progressed during 2010, I found my life in disarray from what I perceived as overwhelming, if not insurmountable, loss in my life. These losses not only included the inevitable loss of my father, but also recent losses of my professional career, my wife, two mentor dogs, personal possessions from two burglaries of my stored personal property, my friends and home in another state—indeed, my life as I knew it.

My overarching effort has been to bring the pieces of my life together in some meaningful way—to rise from the ashes. During 2010, I found myself discovering remnants of old wood, metal, bone, stone—most any object that is old, scarred, deteriorating, and has little value to most people.

Grief - Farewell

The inevitable loss referred to in the 13February posting has come to fruition. My father died early the following morning—Valentines Day. He was embraced in his home by his immediate family.

The week has been filled with extended family, condolences, food, flowers, benevolence, ceremonies, and memories. It has also been filled with tears, sorrow, grief, and absence.

I awakened this morning after the funeral yesterday—the world going round like nothing had occurred. In my heart, however, there is the devastation of an unfilled place

Grief

Our weekly postings here at http://www.e-hhw.com/ have been interrupted due to the final stages of my father’s terminal illness. We have not yet announced this blog—so I’ll temporarily use it as a venue for expressing my grief.

The inevitable loss with which I’m currently grappling involves the man who taught me to fish, to build a house, to train horses without domination, to define a circle (as I watched him use his back to provide for his family), and to respect our partner as much as we respect our self. And he taught these by example, not by instruction.

My heart feels as though it will rupture from the pain of the inevitable before me. Perhaps this immediate circumstance is exacerbated by the recent death of the woman I waited 44 years to find—my life was so briefly augmented from average to glorious (married February 14, 1997 and she died February 13, 2007). Perhaps I still have difficulty baring the loss of my partner—and wonder if I can endure the additional loss of my father.

I cannot know about the transcendence of soul—it’s a matter of belief—but know absolutely that our empirical existence is both glorious and devastating.