Usually, when my blog shows signs of neglect, it is because I am travelling, or suffering from writer's block. This is the first time however, that I have genuinely had loads to write about and loads to share, been in the house, near a net connection, and yet been unable to write.
My father-in-law passed away on the 10th of July. He was in the best of health, so it wasn't just unexpected, but also a shock for all of us. As we struggled to cope with the loss, I was struck with so many thoughts, I itched to pick up a pen and jot them down, but none were on hand, thanks to the state of our house (and of course, our mind).
Today, as I type, the rain is lashing outside. There is so much work to be done, but we aren't in the mood to do anything... just yet. I have so much to write, but the words refuse to come.
As I try to focus my thoughts and write about my travels, I realise that my mind is still filled with thoughts of another journey.... the last one we all take. It is the one we know the least about, and I guess the only one no one looks forward to. It has been described as the ultimate journey, the final adventure, and many other such words, but the only truth is that we know nothing about it.
Over the last 13 days, listening to the priest talk about the path my father-in-law's soul was taking, I couldn't help but wonder if it really was the horror we imagine it to be. Journeys in life are always so interesting. Wouldn't then the final journey, this one to God, be just as interesting. Which begs the question - Is it the obstacles which make a journey interesting? Would we really enjoy a journey which was a peaceful walk with no obstacles, difficulties, or troubles? What is it then that we look forward to?
My father passed away almost 34 years ago. From what we have been hearing over the last few days, a year on earth is equivalent to a day in heaven. Which means, its just over a month for my father up there, wherever he might be. Has the month been just as long for him as it has been for me? Or has the supposed duration of the day by his reckoning made it easier for him? It has certainly not been easy for me.
As I see my husband and sister-in-law mourn, in their own way, I can't help but feel for them. They have no idea yet of the sense of loss - the feeling that never goes away, no matter how many years pass. The rituals do their job, keeping us all busy. Our relatives and friends are a big help, staying by our side in this time of need, remembering hilarious moments which make us all laugh. It is obvious to everyone that the laughter is deliberately loud, as if it will drown out the tears before they spill, but we laugh anyway.
13 days of rituals are over. We slowly start getting back to our daily routine. It is now that we have to face our loss, come to terms with it, and get along with our lives. It isn't going to be easy, but it needs to be done, nevertheless.
In a sense, a journey has ended, another one has begun, and there are lots of journeys in various stages of progress. That's all life is, isn't it? The most adventurous journey of all?