The other day, I chased the mist up the mountain. I wanted to capture it in my camera but the more I drove the more it disappeared. I could see it ahead, but when I got there, it was gone. Loosing someone you love is a bit like that. Their memory lingers so near, but when you try to touch it there is nothing but empty air. The realisation of their absence settles in.
It was the one year anniversary of Dad’s death last month and I had no idea what to expect. Was I going to wake and immediately cry? Perhaps I’d feel nothing. Was I going to be able to do “normal” things that day, or should I set the day aside? Too extreme maybe? And what was I supposed to feel? And once the day had ended, was that it? Was my one year of grieving over and I needed to carry on with a slightly bigger bounce in my step?
These questions were surprisingly confusing, so I decided to throw them all away. To be honest, most of the time, I don’t feel a great deal about Dad. Even as I write that, I feel bad. But it’s not like a constant cloud or heaviness that follows me. It only hits occasionally…but when it hits, it’s like a road train just drove through my chest leaving giant containers of led behind. Perhaps this is my experience of grief because I know that it’s too heavy and too hard to carry that with me all the time.
What is it that makes people so potent in our lives? The depth to which we feel things is incredible. Ecstasy, sorrow, doubt, delight, fear, love… It makes me realise how intricately designed we are as humans. We are not mere logic. In fact, it seems to me, the things that affect us the most carry very little logic.
We are a constant chasing of the mist.
Crafted in a beautiful haze and woven together with mystery.
There is nothing quite like a human being. In this reflection, I’m reminded of just how powerful our actions toward each other are. It’s my prayer that my actions may influence fruit on trees that have long been dry and that I may allow the mystery of the mist to come and go as it pleases.