I spent the month working on some very special projects. Some very heavy projects with a lot of meaning and a lot of shame, guilt and grief attached.

I spent a lot of time listening and a lot of time crying. And when it was over – my part, for now – I had to recover from it. I needed to feel peaceful again.

On Friday I picked up my baby girl, some sushi and we put on our pyjamas and fell asleep together. On Saturday I tried to get up and get going but ended up back in bed napping for most of the afternoon. ¬†On Sunday I knew I needed to get out of the house, but I didn’t know where to go. I needed something. So, I started driving.

And when I got in the car I knew that I was driving through the Ottawa Valley, watching the beautiful fall colours go by, on my way to visit my Dad.

It’s the third or fourth time I’ve been out there to talk to him. I don’t know what draws me there. I certainly never anticipated visiting my father’s grave regularly. I had no idea I would talk to him. I had no idea I would need to.

I was driving the car, thinking of what to do with myself, how to be more peaceful, what direction I should head, and it became surprisingly clear.

Maybe I just need to express my needs and wants to someone who will just be there listening. Maybe I need to give myself what my father always provided me in life – the unvarnished truth.

Maybe I just needed the beauty and serenity of my Ottawa Valley.



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