Throughout the last week – one full week since my Dad died – every day has been different. The only constant has been my daily twenty minute meditation, and in this time I find the place to share a few moments with my father. My meditation has altered slightly. For the past four years a major part of it had focused on my Dad and his health. All of those issues went away when he departed, replaced by something I’m still trying to figure out. For now, it is a simple mantra inspired by Thich Nhat Hanh:
Breathing in, I know I am alive.
Breathing out, I know my father is alive within me.
The breath going in lasts about fifteen seconds. The breath going out lasts about twenty-five seconds. I run through this about ten times, and then the meditation moves on. It’s such a simple meditation, and in these days such simplicity is a comfort. Little steps and little motions in finding a way forward in a world where my Dad’s physical presence has ceased to manifest itself.
I take short walks around the garden to find other moments of peace and calm and beauty.
Breathing in, I know I am alive.
When I feel the sadness and sorrow creep in, I allow it room and space and time. Nodding at the pain, I try to smile through it, knowing that the pain is a sign of love.
Breathing out, I know my father is alive within me.
And so the past seven days have passed, in blurry bits alternating with moments of startling clarity and understanding. Through it all, I still feel my father’s presence, and it feels like we might be ok. At least, that’s what I tell myself, that’s what I strive to believe.
