Welcome back to the Alaskan Journey! (If you missed part 1, you can check it out here) As we left Ketchikan, we sailed overnight to the Tracey Arm Fjord. It just so happened that this part of our adventure would coincide with the anniversary of my dad’s death. The last few years, I had started processing the grief I never did 15 years ago and so on the eve of the 1st, I took to my notes app on my phone to record what I was experiencing:

Tomorrow is the anniversary of dad’s passing - it will have been 15 years. Sometimes I see him in my medittations and I cry because it’s nice to see him again. Usually I would do a post to honor him, but this will be the first year in a long time I won’t. Maybe that’s something special. Maybe I’ll see something that makes me think of him. Maybe just writing this is making me think of him. Maybe the tears that are pricking the corners of my eyes are remembering him. I’ve had a hard time breathing the last few weeks…is it possible my body is remembering the choking feelings that comes when you watch someone die - nay, when you wish for someone to die because their life has left them days ago and the only thing that remains is pain. Or maybe it remembers being cramped up on the hospital chairs, afraid to close the eyes for fear that precious time will be lost with someone who means so much. Or even still, it remembers holding its breath while you watched your mother kiss you father’s forehead as he exhaled his final breath and you could literally feel the energy in the room shift.

He was there and then he was just….

Gone.

In one breath - the breath I can’t seem to take - my life changed.
I didn’t cry then.
But I’m crying now.
Rather,
I don’t think I let myself cry then
But I won’t stop myself from crying now.

I swallowed my grief
when I swallowed my food
My food became my grief
My food became my emotion
When it bubbled up
I forced it down

But fullness in my body
will not fill
the emptiness of my heart.

The following morning, June 1st, I continued to think of my dad as we slowly made our way through the fjord. As I took in the beauty of the scene around me at the god awful time of 5:30am I felt a little sadness shadow the experience. As we neared the end of the fjord to turn around and come back out, Ryan left the balcony to go to see his sister and parents where they were watching and I had some time to reflect by myself. As tears rolled down my cheeks, the sun crested over the mountains and the most glorious heaven rays appeared through the canyon and all I heard was:

”This is for you, Baby Girl.”

The sobs that escaped my body probably echoed off the back of the ship, but I didn’t care - I didn’t want to keep it in anymore. 15 years was enough. I tried to capture the glorious sunrise, but the thing about Mother Nature, you can’t capture the essence in a camera, the way you can when you just experience it. God knows I tried. Here’s the thing, the sun was going to rise whether or not my Dad made it happen, but in that moment it brought me a sense of peace, softness, and memory that I didn’t know I had been missing and for that, I am thankful.