I guess it is strangely fitting that on a rather significant post -- my 400th -- I need to tell you that my 92-year-old father has passed away.
It is also strangely fitting that, although it happened 2,500 miles away, it happened about three hours after I returned from my local public library, where, with art paper and colored markers in hand, I created a colorful mission statement/brainstorm for my post-62 life. The ties were that tight, but the universes we inhabited that distant. He was absolutely my life's most influential teacher, but except for genetics, we had almost literally nothing in common. A year or so ago, we said the best good-bye we could possibly have done; recently, his now-defenseless body had become riddled with cancer. He was well taken care of, and apparently the end was almost ideal. He said, "I'm taking a nap now," and closed his eyes for the last time.
So in many respects, I am not mourning. I have commended his soul to the goddess (which would probably not have been his preference) and feel largely at peace. I dearly hope he is too. My rebirth may end up being far more literal than I realized, and I rejoice in the potential liberating joys of the upcoming months and years. But by the same token, there remains much to mourn, and to continue to wonder and rail at about how our respective lives turned out. I've found myself wishing we were back in the Victorian era, and I could wear an elaborate black bombazine dress and wrap myself in a black veil for the next year. I wish in a way that people could see me coming from blocks away and understand that I am dealing with an upended life. I wish we were encouraged to limit our activities when in mourning; our culture's utter avoidance of such rituals has never seemed so unfortunate. At some point in the future, I will look at this month or so as the most important axis in my life, and over the next few weeks, I believe I will figure out some visual/wardrobe change to mark it. I am the honored elder now, the matriarch of some tribe. It is too hot for bombazine, but something about my rather scruffy image must change. I'll let you know what it is.
