Getting My Sea Legs Again

I've been very intensively immersed in my dad's end-of-life transition for the past few weeks. I had to call upon my inner Spartan warrior to get through a lot of it. So today I found myself surfacing from the whole experience, as though the ground heaved and dipped beneath me. I needed to gain my sea legs again.

I needed to go by the water. Whatever ails me, if I can go and look out over a large body of water - preferably the ocean - my soul is soothed and my equilibrium returns. Luckily for me, the hospital where my dad passed away looked out over the harbour. When things got heavy, I found myself looking out the window to that blue pulse of energy. And on the morning he died, there was a lovely sunrise sparkling on the water.

The morning of his burial, we had strong winds and snow flurries. When we gathered at the gravesite to say our final goodbyes, the wind gusted powerfully from Bedford Basin, buffeting each one of us like a back-slapping embrace. My uncle said he'd always think of my dad on a day like that.

Today it was deceptively sunny, masquerading as spring when scarves and mitts were still in order. But the promise of warmer days smiled through the sunshine. I spent some time this afternoon gazing out over a lake, feeling strength filter through me as I saw the surface shimmer.

The days ahead will unfold and I will rise to meet each one. When things seem to get too much for me, I'll take some time and go by the water. My energy will fill up like a well. The ground will seem more stable. I'll find my sea legs again along the shore.