Camping in Sorrow

My dad died when I was 35.  Shortly after his passing, I realized that I was depressed (duh).  I asked a couple of people who knew me well, to give me a few months and check back with me.  Both of them took seriously my need for sorrow, and took seriously my knowledge that I could not forever continue in the depths of the dark woods I was in.  Both checked in on me periodically, not pushing me to come out of my sadness but walking with me.

It is the words of one that comes back to me now.  Over coffee, about 6 months after my dad's passing, this friend asked if I had pulled the stakes up yet.  I looked at him with a raised eyebrow, asking what he meant.  He smiled, and said that I'd been camping out in my sorrow - and that was ok - but it was not ok to permanently move in.  He asked again if I had pulled up my stakes yet - my tent stakes - and after talking for a while, we ascertained together that I had started to pull them up, but had not completely broken camp yet.  And he walked with me a while longer, helping me to break camp and move out of the dark woods I was in.

Fitting, I guess, for this season.  I am camping out in my sorrow.  And folks, that's ok...for now.  I'm not moving there permanently - but if you want to check in on me periodically, that's ok.  That would probably be more than ok.  In return, I promise I'll walk with you - or just sit with you - as you will allow me.  Just remember that you can't pull my tent stakes up for me.  Only I can, and I will, when the time is right.