phonecall

February 9 marks my life as before and after.

On that momentous date 34 years ago, my beloved father, after shoveling a driveway full of  wet snow, came indoors, sat down on his favorite chair, and died.

He was scarcely sick a day of his life. He was my gentle rock.

When you get a long-distance call that your father has died, the words hit your ear, dance dizzily in your mind and try to gain purchase on any familiar ground. There is none.

That long-accepted framework of trust, guidance, love, understanding, acceptance, safety - was gone in one second of time. I will never be the same person.

It was the first towering granite boulder in my pathway that I couldn't get around, over, under - I just had to dig through it.

And yes, I got to the other side. And there is still joy, laughter, sunshine, springtime, love in all shades.

But now there is an edge of understanding that all that is cherished is on loan and must be savored.

Because the phone can ring again. At any time. And digging through boulders is such hard work.