In the midst of depression, it is hard to find any thing to be thankful for, let alone any place. In fact, the depression itself feels like a place, tangible and real. I slid into that place, that slippery slope, following my father’s death. At first I was fine, or thought I was fine. I was mostly numb, going through the motions, walking through the fog of everything you have to do after someone dies.
Wading through funeral arrangements, flower deliveries, condolences, and decisions about his belongings. These were events, tasks, distractions. It was not until I returned to work that I realized I was still numb, but only to the good things. I was still navigating through the fog, and everything felt flat, difficult, ugly, pointless. How could I process the same old paperwork, how could I deal with the same old problems, how could I be living my same old life…when his was gone? During this transitory time, I found myself regularly drawn to the ocean.
It was a place my father had loved, and one of the reasons we’d relocated to Humboldt County. As my memories slowly buoyed up from the fog of depression, I recalled numerous trips to the beach with him. When we first moved here, we’d walk the beach, pretending to be nomads, roaming a new land…which in many ways we really were. We’d gather shells together, which I’d use to decorate my bookshelves or make into necklaces. Finding a sanddollar was a moment of celebration that would be commemorated with shouts of “hurrah!” and questions of where I’d spend my newfound fortune. We’d even spent several hours on a photo shoot, him taking two rolls of film so I’d have a nice senior portrait with sand and ocean as my backdrop. It was grounding, literally and metaphorically, to walk the beach, sand between my toes, sharing my trek with my memories. I found that as I watched the ocean waves, I breathed in its regular rhythm, its natural, unrelenting demonstration of the ebb and flow of life.
And consequently, the waves of grief became weaker, shorter, and less damaging. I was able to slow down and really start to see the world anew, and appreciate the small things all around me: I was surrounded by beauty. The seagull in flight, rhythmically moving its wings to ride the wind. The dog chasing its ball into the water. Other people enjoying the sunshine and salty air. The marooned driftwood, also run aground during recent storms…these are the things that were finally able to give me perspective and make me understand that feeling loss so deeply meant that I had been lucky to have such a wonderful relationship with my father. It meant that he’d been an important part of my life; that I’d been fortunate to have so much love and support; that I have amazing memories to look back on and enjoy. And those are all truly blessings to be thankful for.
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