the liminal space

Sitting here I have no idea what to write. It's a fuzzyheaded, caught in the headlights type of feeling. Just how life feels right now. I tell myself I mustn't blog too much about grief, about Dad, it'll be depressing and my small yet beautiful readership will think 'not again...isn't she over it yet?' (deep down I know that my community wouldn't think that - you really are beautiful folk!). So I've decided to just give it up to you as it is, here and now. 

I don't spend my days wallowing in tears but they do come and often. A deep gulp of 'what happened?' engulfs for that moment. The wide open space of nothingness that lets me sink in to whatever I needed to feel or create or journal just after Dad passed is slowly diminishing as the needs of living and earning closes in. The initial few weeks of loss were charged, loudly profound and raw, possessing it's own uncompromising vitality. The profundity remains but the energy of the electrical storm of initial grief has passed to be replaced by an expanse of grey cloud, the liminal space.

This time last year my sister and I were in the Punjab, figuring out how to get Dad home to England, a DIY medical repatriation on Air India. For the next 11 months both my sister and I lived a Dad-shaped life. Everything fitted around helping and supporting Dad. It was an intense period, full of energy and hope, disappointments and heartaches. Now Dad is on the big mystic sofa in the sky, yesterday we both said we feel as if we are twiddling our thumbs, not knowing what to do with ourselves. Work occupies but it's the in-between moments, the times when we'd be taking Dad to appointments or I'd be on my next campaign upholding Dad's rights or just being with Dad that are no longer here that overwhelm us. Yet when we were doing all that we were overwhelmed by it. Weird.

It's still early days and soon those moments will be filled, just like they were before Dad had his stroke. For me it's not something I can force upon myself, it'll just have to happen when it happens. I can't just pick up where I left off last year. Get back in to my old life. I feel irrevocably altered and cracked open by the last 12 months and Dad's passing. I have a responsibility to this experience, to this last year and to what Dad has taught me. The old shoes don't fit anymore. The only thing I can do right now is to honour the liminal space, to not rush or force it. To be patient and open to it's fuzziness and mystery, to the nudges and whispers. Liminality is the waiting time between sacred thresholds.