What a difference a year makes.

So with many of you digging so far back into ze blog, I decided to jump in too and damn what a year. As I was scrolling through I realized that at this time last year I was well into the throws of dealing with the process of dying. Man. It’s crazy to think that dad has been gone almost a whole year. At this point last year, I was shuffling him to doctor visit after doctor visit, arguing with my douchy brother, and trying to find the words to say to dad. At this point last year he was a staggering 90 pounds and would not admit he was dying. He kept telling me, I’m fine….as long as I have something to do; I’m not going anywhere. I would go to yoga to destress, cry in the shower, reach for words, reach for wisdom, reach for a resolve. There was no resolve…only an acceptance for what I could not change. Acceptance that a chapter of my life had closed and the beginning of something new. With this I learned to see beauty. Beauty in his life, beauty in the gifts that he had given me, beauty in my own personal growth, and the beauty that can be found in moments of loss.

Here I am. One year later. I’m making public art. I now have the responsibilities of my father; a mortgage, two cats, two dogs, and two children. I’m constantly working towards creating beauty in the home that my father was raised in, also the house that I was raised in and now where my children are growing. I’m taking a break from school and replacing it with forging a path of facilitating public art for my community. Working with my city to improve the city. My mural is set for installation tomorrow morning and I’ve been informed that the local newspaper will be there to document it and all I can think is, “dad would be proud.”  If he were still around he would proudly call me and let me know that he saved the paper for me. He was always sentimental like that.