It’s been a while since I’ve posted about art and whales and that's because I was caught up in a house move. My faithful blog subscribers may remember I’d been comparing the scale of things (big loans, big whales, and little us). The loan in question was a mortgage to get us moved from a largish house on five acres to a normal size house on a development size lot.
With down-sizing comes the loss of handfuls (and cars full) of well-loved objects, memory triggers, and experiences. I’d been doing okay with that sadness as it came in little waves. Truth to tell, I was a bit grateful that the constant decisions of packing and unpacking helped me sidestep the daily jolts of our recent American political life.
That was working fine until . . . until that first email about Granny's passing.
Granny, the well-loved 104 year old matriarch orca of the J pod of the Southwest Resident Orcas had not been seen since last October; the Center for Whale Research waited until this January to say she is presumed dead.
That broke my bubble. Suddenly it was too many losses. Granny's absence backlit how the losses of change can pile up, even if expected or chosen. For me, Granny not being present on this planet unleashed deep sadness for all that I am saying goodbye to - Granny, the way the sky lit our former house, my pleasure in the grit and integrity of our recent president and his family.
So what to do when sadness and loss come home to roost?
No big secret here. I'm just being sad. Ken Balcomb’s heartfelt memorial to Granny helps me work through what this iconic matriarch meant to me. And I’m more willing now not to sidestep grieving with overeating, overdrinking, or being overbusy. (Well maybe not so good on the first one.)
A Granny Moving Us Forward
I’m taking time this week to mark many thresholds where I’m losing the known and heading into the new. It helps that another grandmother, Teresa Shook, inspired the many women, and men, to join in Women’s Marches across the country marking the changes as well.