Connecting

I read news about Natasha Tretheway being named poet laureate this morning. The name was unfamiliar until then but it was not too hard to find some of her poems to read. The Elegy dedicated to her father took on a very personal meaning for me today. My father was in an accident earlier this morning and now recovering in a hospital. It has been a few years since I saw him last. The picture of him laying unconscious and covered in mud in the middle of a busy market place kept coming back to me as I tried to carry on with a lunch meeting. The realities of his life could not be more starkly different than mine. Yet, there was a time when our lives were one, I lived in his world and in his protection. It is hard to fathom that my biggest source of strength may now be vulnerable.

Along with physical distance and time there has come a certain inability to traverse each others' realities. Then there was another picture of an old man bandaged and sedated alone in a hospital bed, the steady stream of relatives coming in and out to check on him. He is surrounded by people who care for him, those who are there to fill my void. I found myself wondering if I should go to India right away or wait until he was back home so I could actually spend time with him. Finally, after several hours I felt a deep sense of gratitude. He is still alive - I still have a chance to be with him. Today may have been the day, when I received much worse news. I felt blessed that the elegy will wait for another day.