Saturday was the anniversary of my dad's passing. Despite the intervening years I still miss the old boy as much as I did when he died, sometimes overwhelmingly so. Like this evening. The experiences and feelings I have are both comforting and painful and I sometimes have to write them down, if not in a way that is immediately recognisable. Two of my favourite books chart two very different aspects of the human experience, and have had some considerable influence on me.
The first, John Diamond's C: Because Cowards Get Cancer Too is a stunningly honest and heartbreaking recounting of life in the shadow of the cancer he contracts.
The second, CS Lewis' A Grief Observed also stuns; a beautifully written and, again, honest reflection on his loss and feelings after the death of his wife.
Both books bring tears to my eyes when I think of them, and leave me lost for days when I read them. So I don't and haven't done so in a long while.
There is something I want to chart; something uplifting, something occasionally painful and terrifying and yet absolutely and completely wonderful. I don't know if I should. I don't know if it needs that level of self-absorption, self-awareness and self-analysis. I don't know what purpose it serves, other than to give shape to the miasma of emotions and thoughts swirling in and around me. I don't know if I have the skill to contain and express and set free what it is I am going through. But I want to. I really do.
Perhaps that is more than enough reason to do so.