Death Day Anniversaries

Have you experienced comfort and accompaniment from loved ones who departed, and are no longer breathing and visible alongside you? A story, on the one-year anniversary of my Dad dying unexpectedly.

Around 1:30, paint brush in hand, I heard a whisper inside me say, “Go to the river.”

Today it’s been a year since my Dad died unexpectedly, and I’m picking weeds and staining decks at my parent’s small RV Park and cabin in Alaska alongside the Kenai River, getting ready for the first guest arriving tomorrow.

The urge was persistent, so I set the “blue spruce” paint covered brush into the pan, and walked toward the top of the steps. I thought, maybe go to the greenhouse instead. “No, the river.” Okay.

I’ve learned to trust these inklings and guidance when it comes.

It isn’t lost on me that my Dad likely died around 1:30 in the afternoon.

I stopped completely in my tracks at the top of the steps that go to the river down a steep bank.

A perfect feather stood up at the edge of the woods in the grass. I knelt down. It’s magnificent.

My Dad knows I love feathers. My son knows I love feathers. Spirit knows I love feathers.

After my Dad died I found small white ones multiple times a day all summer. This brown one with tufts of white is spectacular and perfect.

I picked it up, let its softness caress my cheek, and began walking the steps. A familiar prickle of tears begin to bubble that only comes every now and again, often unbidden.

A few steps from the bottom, I sat. Took some deep breaths. Marveled at the feather in my hand. Looked at my dirty, chipped nails from manual labor. Felt the warmth of the shadowed sun as I gazed at the aqua river water steadily flow downstream. Prayed. Thanked God for being so close, especially in this year that’s been so hard in so many aspects. Talked to my Dad spirit to spirit. Felt him sitting to my left, saying, lean in for a minute. Breathe. Be.

Grace, God’s spirit, and the love of family and friends like you carries me through the dark nights, and in the many moments of laughter and joy.

The raw grief roared once again, gripping, clenching. I felt it, and let it go, flow.

In a moment of vulnerability, I decided to become a designated witness of my life and turned my iPhone to myself. (One of my photography teachers spoke to me about how we as photographers are designated witnesses to life around us.)

When my tears stopped, I twisted and turned the feather in my fingers, again wondering how it found its way to that particular place and time. Maybe life moves through us, not to us.

I wondered about where this feather had flown in its lifetime, who it belonged to, pondering its story. I realized all the feathers I’ve ever seen have flown in the skies, lived a distinct life with their bird, helped give it necessary flight. I take this curiosity with me. Even wondering if I’d seen the bird in flight. And again, how did it land there in the grassy edge of the woods, upright, ready for me to see, at this particular juncture in time. Pure gift.

As I write this a few hours later, my toes and soles are getting a much-needed pedicure--a treat to myself on this day instead of a day off to go fishing--and I’ll go back shortly to finish staining the decks, opening the present of life, of time, of love, of loss, of eternity.

As a soul photographer, I risk sharing these vulnerable untouched photos, the raw face of grief, breath, being present, letting go again and again, while simultaneously dwelling in love.

I see the face of grief so many of us wear in private. I pray for my friend, and my cousin, both whose husbands died unexpectedly this month. I pray for my friend who I just learned has metastasized cancer. I pray for my friends who I saw after decades in California earlier this year during those long weeks at my brothers bedside, when he was in a medically induced coma on the S-ICU hospital floor—their Mom was also there. She died in June, and then their Dad died within weeks. I pray for all who quietly suffer, and wake up day after day.

I pray for consolation for everyone, and for beauty to break through, bringing hope and new life.

Whatever you are living, my love streams into depths and heights this day, and in its abundance, grounded in Spirit, may this grace flow to you however you most need. Its source is infinite.

My Papa’s voice rings in me, be love. Soar.

Amen.

ps: my toes are now a sparkling, glittery pink!

I love you Dad. Thank you for giving me so much life, guidance, challenge, and wisdom. I’m so blessed by your love.

To my beloved subscriber readers, thank you for accompanying me this year. Kindly forgive me—I’ve missed a few weekly columns with the intensity of living in what seems like several realities this spring with loss multiplying upon loss, and the untangling of so much. I’m so grateful for you, and have a new book and writing beginning to bubble in me. Much love and gratitude to you, and for you, P