Endings and Beginnings

I've been reluctant to write about my life recently, which is mainly because I've been reluctant to think about it. This blog tends to be a place where I am emotionally honest and I haven't really been that recently. Friends have asked me how I've been and I've replied that I'm fine or that I'm coping because typically, when they've asked me, I have been. But when I've had my dark moments, I haven't felt able to do anything or say anything to reach out. I have rediscovered my inability to ask for help. All I can think about is not being a burden on other people. I hate showing my vulnerability, which begs the question, why am I writing about it now? I don't know, actually. I will readily admit to being something of an emotional mess.

My Dad died. This is the strangest and most horrible fact of my life. It's simultaneously real and unreal. I can't believe it happened but can't forget it: The howling gale in his hospital room, feeling his pulse stop, hearing his final breath. I miss him so much but any way that I have of explaining it makes it sound so mundane. I miss his voice, his face, miss kissing him on his forehead and ambushing him with hugs, I miss talking to him about acting and about life, miss him being in the audience, especially his laugh. I miss running my life through the filter of his love, expectance and critique. I miss the version of myself that he saw; a fearless, honest, extraordinary woman.

But life goes on. Sometimes relentlessly, sometimes joyfully. There have been bad days and good days, occasionally they have been the same day. I continue to be the same person I was but have changed beyond recognition - nothing makes sense in quite the way that it did before.