Here's to Twenty-Two Years
As the main rollercoaster of grief has long since passed me by, my devotion to my late father lives in these small moments, and in the noticing.
I lit a candle on my desk as I sat down to begin writing this annual tribute to my father, Dr. David King. In about a half hour it will be exactly 22 years to the hour since his passing. I have no plan for what to write, and that’s actually part of the fun.
I picture him nudging me on the shoulder while I sat on the couch this afternoon, making sure I was conscious of the time and date. Last year I spent almost the entire anniversary of his death without thinking of him—despite my growing and meaningful ancestor practice. When I realized I’d missed out on this opportunity to connect on a significant day, I was disappointed in myself. So perhaps he tried extra hard today to rouse me from the flow of my thoughts and tasks so we could spend some time together. Thanks Dad, I appreciate it.
This February 8th has been spent in multiple ways that remind me of my Dad as he was in daily life. As the main rollercoaster of grief has long since passed me by, my devotion to him lives in these small moments, and in the noticing.
Walk It Out
I took Barley on multiple walks today without looking at my phone. I loved the light snow dusting the ground in my neighborhood, creating beautiful textures and imprints as people went about their day. Not only do I need a mental break from the anxiety-inducing noise of this changing world, but I find it makes my entire day better whenever I choose it. Being outside easily brings me to a state of gratitude and expansive thought. This is my favorite kind of meditation.
My love of daily walks reminds me of Dad starting his days jogging with his tall crew socks and sweat bands. He had an excellent routine. He never pressured us to run with him, but I do wish we’d gone on more rambling walks together. I often talk to him during my wanderings now, especially when I take the time to be present in my surroundings and appreciate all I have. Another wonderful Dad thing.
Work It Out
I have called Dad a workaholic on many occasions. He loved feeling accomplished at the end of a day. He had a very long to-do list, and many priorities, all of value. He was proud and grateful when he got a lot done, and disappointed in himself when he didn’t complete his goals or figure something out. He cared so much that he did things well and was a good man, teacher, business owner, therapist, father, husband, brother, friend, community member, and Michigan fan.
Today, I put away all of the clean laundry (a mighty task, iykyk) and completed some other small chores. I aspire to be as driven as Dad was towards my todo list (I am not), but I always feel proud of checking tasks off a list, making progress on my goals, and when I contribute to my home. More Dad things.
Give It Out
I chose two bags worth of items to donate from my closet to my local trans-supporting thrift store, The Brown Elephant. When I was young we purchased secondhand a lot and used hand-me-downs from the other families in our community. Three cheers for reuse and repurposing! Later when we had more to give, my parents had us donate toys, books, and clothes multiple times a year. I remember those lessons fondly. I often think of Dad when I give items away to have a more appreciated life with someone else. I’m grateful to have such generous parents as models in my life.
Write It Out
And today I started writing a thing. This little thing. Dad was a big thinker and a wonderful writer. For years he worked on a book that remained unfinished when he died. But in the meantime, he also wrote many talks, taught classes and workshops at colleges and churches, and journaled in his Franklin Covey planner. He was a wonderful teacher, and one day I hope to give speeches and move rooms just like he did. I know I have it in me.
He had big ideas and a deep emotional life that I only saw through the eyes and perspective of a child and teenager. I found one of his old journals/planners in 2023, and I sat on the floor reading (more like decoding) his atrocious handwriting until nearly 3am–not realizing where the time had gone. But I’d been with Dad, and that was completely worth it.
I picture Dad standing over my right shoulder as I type, and that feels cozy to me. Of all people in my life, he’s the person who has come through my proverbial pen the most. I used writing to process his breast cancer journey, death, and personal impact both privately and publicly through blogging, journaling, creative nonfiction, and poetry. Dad always inspired me with and through words. It's completely fitting to write a little more today.
Twenty-Two
I was 19 when he left this incarnation--twenty-two years ago. Quite the journey, to put it lightly, and one that still feels so connected to him and who he was. That’s one of the greatest perks of being genetically and emotionally rooted to David King. My way of honoring him is mainly to live like him in my day-to-day–emulate his most beautiful and wonderful parts, and do it my way.
Dear Dad, thank you for nearly 42 years of love, even if 22 of them have been spent with you beyond the veil. I’m so glad you nudged me today. I love how you live through me. I love you forever.
Esoteric Metacontext
While writing, I remembered today is my personal numerological 9 day–indicating endings of cycles, tidying up, clearing away the old and making way for something new. Quite apt, I think as I look at the empty laundry hampers in my living room.
I also pulled the 10 of Swords in my weekly draw for today’s energy. The illustration on this card is literally a dead guy lying on the ground; so it’s not over stating it to say this is a death card—if not the Major Arcana (13) Death. Another meaning of the 10ofS is observing and ending cycles of thought, paradigm, and belief. Writing a reflection about my passed loved one and recognizing the parts of him cyclically living through me is a beautiful higher expression of this card’s energy.
The same themes stated above are mirrored in the sky. Transiting Mercury (the messenger, guide during transitions, communication, intellectual pursuit), is currently exact with (the same position as) the Sun at 20 degrees Aquarius in my natal 8th House of death, transformation, secrets, taxes, and inheritance. Yep, it’s on the nose.
In the chart of the moment, Leo is Rising at 19 degrees opposing its host/ruler, the Sun & the messenger Mercury. I’m meant to be writing (Mercury) about my father (Sun) and expressing myself (Leo).
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