Well I'm here in the house, after taking a much needed day off work. Pandora is providing me with a perfect hot day mix of Zap Mama, Jill Scott, Goapele, India.Arie, windows are open, and I'm feeling like the flowers on my fire escape--half wilted from the heat, just trying to hang on.
I'm writing this not from a sad place, but from a place of observance and wonder. My uncle died thursday, and not just any uncle, Uncle Melvin. He was the one who always had his arms outstretched when we walked in the door, always had a smile, loved a good joke, would stir us family members up in a discussion, only to give a mishcevious smile when he was eventually found out. This was the man whose relationship with my aunt I so admired, I loved to watch them together, cooking and fussing and laughing, a love that had aged like a fine wine. He died peacefully in his sleep, after having lead an amazing life, seeing the world, raising a family, surrounded by wife, children, and grandchildren. I only cry for myself, because I'll miss his presence in this world. But he blessed us all so much.
At the same time, my father, who has been living in a nursing home with severe alzheimer's, was admitted to the hospital the next night with a twisted colon (something the doctor says is common in older, physically inactive men). They were able to get it untwisted, but he still needs an operation so that his colon won't rupture and kill him. But because of his age and heart condition (he has a pacemaker) the operation could have the same affect. But most of us felt like we lost him when this disease took his mind years ago. He doesn't remember any of us half the time or react to much of anything, not even the jazz records that were such a huge part of his life, and part of all my favorite childhood memories of being raised by this man. I could not have asked for a better or more loving father. I hug him now, and his grip is not as strong. His hug has become polite, and sometimes he calls me "a nice young lady."
My relationship died last week, and the two of us are performing CPR. We are learning to be kinder, gentler, and more understanding of one another. We're slowly putting things back together, doing a lot of walking and talking, and letting each other breathe. It's unbelievable how close we both came to throwing everything away. But we're worth more than that.
So now I'm left to survey the collapse of things, and what is left in the wake. I cut my locs short as part of my own renewal, in an effort to let go of some old bad energy that's been hovering. This time has also spawned so much more prayer. I finally completed my ancestor altar and began to use it. With the moon full, I also decided it was time to make my first ever Oshun offering--an omelette with five eggs and five shrimp, along with some cinnamon sticks and mint leaves, cast into the waters of a nearby lake. Certain things die so that new ones can grow. That's how I'm trying to look at it. A season of death is followed by renewal. It's summer, and certain things were overripe and simply fell from the tree. That's part of life's natural cycle.
Meanwhile I'll just keep praying, and paint so I can breathe, and keep looking for the beauty in every single piece of it.