In my own time

Change is inevitable. It's not like you can change change. People, cars, attitudes, jobs - they are all subject to the inexorable march of change it seems. Well, I'm not one for changing much. In the Ivanovitch bubble, things change around me rather than me being a catalyst of any colour. I have been quiet this last month, quiet in my family, my car, my bed. Since August I've pulled the shades down on my life, despite the challenges of a new job, and the usual black-pepper sprinkling of daily issues, my self has remained hidden. Grief does this to you, I've discovered. Learning so much about myself, as reflected in those nearby sharing this grief, I realise how little I planned for grief in my life. Keeping so positive, with my sunny smile, has kept the loss of my Dad compartmented, shut behind a door, not locked, just closed for now. Something tucked away for a rainy day, to muse and mull over privately, perhaps later. The trouble with playing this game with grief is that, much like any game, the umpire or the referee or the linesman, or even the banker will occasionally send a reminder that there is an unfinished play, strategy or half that remains to be completed. I'm not sure I want to face playing right now, but the time is coming, surely coming soon. Those of my friends who have triumphed in their grief games would surely tell me of the healing process, the salvation of time, the numbing of hurt that will come with the passing of the days and weeks. I know it will. Little reminders of my Dad, little paintings or photos sometimes burst into view, suddenly brightening or dulling my eyes for a moment, then they pass, as all clouds do, leaving me bereft and joyous in the same instant. I have a secret though. I lived my whole life knowing my Dad loved me, knowing - simply knowing that he was right there in every way. And I loved him back, regardless of the miles or time of day. I still do, that hasn't gone away with his passing. I said everything I wanted to say to him, and he to me, and that knowledge is stronger than grief. It overcomes everything. I have no regrets. That, too, commands enormous comfort. So thank you, my glorious Pa. You did it just right. Your music lives on in me and my kin, and I'll play it until my time ends too. Daniel x