The Circle of Life
The last time I wrote was March 11, 2025. I found out a few days after that post that my dad had died. at the time, I had been consumed with my pony’s illness and wasn’t able to call him like I wanted to, and when I finally did, I couldn’t reach him.
He and I were very close, and he ALWAYS returned my calls within a few hours, but that day something was different. I left a voicemail, I texted, I emailed.
Nothing.
I sent his neighbor to the house to check and he said there was no answer despite his white Tundra being parked out front. Then, my dad’s pharmacist (of all people) showed up at the house at the same time as the neighbor was there, because my dad hadn’t picked up his meds a few days prior which he NEVER does. When I neighbor texted me this news, I think I knew. But I wasn’t going to crumble. I called the city police and asked them to do a wellness check. They called me when they arrived, told me there was no answer, and all the doors were locked. I told them to break in.
We hung up, and a good while later the constable called me back. They had found my father inside, deceased.
Then, I did crumble. My voice and my tears were not enough to express my grief. I sobbed, unable to breathe. I wailed and crumpled into my dining room chiar. It wasn’t supposed to happen yet, he wasn’t supposed to be just… gone. Poof. leaving no trace, no feeling, no presence that other people talk about.
Just.
Gone.
He said he’d love me until the end of time. That he’d never truly leave me. But I couldn’t sense him at all.
I actually wouldn’t be surprised if he needed to just GTFO this planet for a while. He’s lived a very hard life and was in a lot of chronic pain. I was grateful to know he was no longer suffering. But his abscence felt like he’d taken a part of me with him. In life, he was always there for me, “call me if you need me,” was his constant refrain, and he never left me to sit in the painful uncertainty of silence for long. His sudden, complete abscence hurt so much. I felt (I feel) alone in many ways, then and now. I know he taught me everything he could and everything I need to navigate this life, “watch your 6”,’ and “keep your head ona swivel,” etc. - if you knew him you’d understand. He taught me how to trust my instincts, and how to believe in magic. He gave me a love for nature and an appreciation for the wisdom of trees. Oak for strength, ash for magic. And my god, he was smart. Broken by what life had done to him, but a genius level IQ that made talking with him always fascinating, and frustrating. He knew things that I can never even hope to know.
So my new goal to write more, and do more interviews, has been on hold, and this is why.
But I recorded an interview with another incredible Bozeman midwife today, and I hope to get that posted for you this week! I am slowly finding my feet again and moving forward, letting go, but also not, if that makes sense. I hold my happy memories close, and just wish there was more time to make more instead of praying the memories I treasure won’t fade. It’s a really tough thing, death. You think you’ll be ready when it comes, but however it visits you, you’re not.
At least when death tried to come for me, I was able to fight and say, “NO.”
But I know my dad was so tired. Life had become so hard. And it really was his time.
Doesn’t make this any easier though. Thanks for being here. xo
