15.

last weekend i made a tough call:

1. turn off my phone and the world for a few days
2. spend all my focus on where to put my feet on the (often challenging) coastline of shipwreck coast.
3. be present, excruciatingly present, in the company of three delightful human beings.

i got my weekend and more than i had bargained for: thirty miles of stunning coastline, vivid sunsets, miles and miles of uncertain footing (and too many blisters), endless references early 80's children would understand best, olives, hot chocolate, and caviar, and last, but not least: an unexpected ~60ft wall we had to descend by rope ~10 miles into an exhausting day.

the raw beauty and physical challenge were exactly what i needed. the sweat and struggle was purifying (i had to look my phobia of heights full in the face several times on that wall) and of course the surroundings and my companions were remarkable. but the unanticipated surprise of the weekend was the emotional focus it took not to question my decision to be out there at all as i honestly had no idea whether or not my father would still be alive when i got back into reception.

it took all of my confidence to stick with my decision not to rush out to austria to try to "catch him" before he passed. it took a lot of self-reassurance to keep words like thoughtless and selfish out of my inner monologue. even so, half the time i felt a little crazy for choosing the this trip to the coast over a desperate visit to see my father (perhaps) one last time. he hasn't been able to walk for a long time now. he hasn't talked in months. there is also question as to whether or not he'd recognize me at this point.

this year has seen a slow unfurling of grief as i come to terms with the approaching death of my father. i have so many written pieces started and (as yet) unfinished trying to sort out all the layers of his life i have resting softly in my hands: papery scraps of stories half remembered or never told, frayed fabric of all the many complicated truths of him, and the slowly disintegrating tethers to his many, human failures i've gripped tightly over the years.

a few days before the trip and after six+ weeks of hospitalization, my father got a third infection. this time the antibiotics stopped working, septic shock was a high risk, and the hospital called to warn us. my sisters and nieces joined my mother at his side and i was one small click away from purchasing a flight departing for austria a few hours later. but somehow i couldn't let go of this trip and more importantly, couldn't let go of the certainty that the timing i had agonized about only a week before was the right timing for my trip. even it didn't make any logical sense. even if it meant i missed him altogether.

but my return to civilization after the 30 miles proved yet again what i've known for a long time: my father is a bear of a human being. somehow or other he pulled through last weekend and even did a small (temporary most likely) turn around. the death mask faded from his face and some color and awareness returned. meanwhile, i begin to pack for my departure in a few days and i am so grateful that i get to take with me the glorious struggle of the blisters and the miles, the vibrant surge of the sunsets, and the sweet-joyful-fun of my companions still soaking warmth into my bones.

and, most importantly, i have a new appreciation of my own inner strength: a deeper understanding that there is nothing i can do for my father's journey, that i can and must surrender to the process of my first Great Loss, and whenever i can i should let it all go to the point of laughter and joy and appreciating the beauty of 30 hard-won miles of life as much as possible.