Finding my way back

We're coming up on the year mark since dad passed away.  On the one hand, I can't believe it's been nearly a year; on the other, it's been a lifetime.  We moved mom in with us at the beginning of December and she's better here.  The boys entertain her (or her outrageous behavior entertains them).  We're finding a new rhythm, the six of us.  It's neither better nor worse (yet), but we're finding our way.  The old house has been sold, the condo is up for sale and we're actively looking for a house that will suit mom's physical needs now and for the future.  The boys aren't thrilled with moving, but truly do understand the necessity of it.

Grief is an odd thing.  The boys feel free to cry when they need to and talk to me about how much they miss him.  Mom doesn't cry, but asks every day why daddy had to die.  My relationship with grief is adversarial at best.  I don't have time to cry.  I don't have time to think about this enormous void his passing has left.  If I get taken by surprise with my own tears, I push them back down and get back to the business of managing all of the things he left for me to do. 

I took up art to try to feel close to him.  I'm not any good, but that isn't the point.  It's a period of time each day that I sit and commune with dad.  I have replaced our early morning coffee and phone call with art time after dinner, when all the chores for the day are finished.  I can hear him in my head, guiding me.  I feel him in my soul, soothing me and whispering that I'm doing what needs to be done.

Finding the right medium was very difficult.  From having no experience at all (other than stick figures), learning to draw, much less paint, has been a frustrating, but amazing experience.  I stumbled upon an art form called "Zentangle," and knew immediately that was what I wanted to do.  What I could do.  So I'll post them as I finish them and start off today with a drawing meant for my grandfather.