Coyote Magic

Transitions are tricksy.  They make me squirm, like a too-tight bra.  With bipolar disorder, one is always in transition—an episode is either coming or going.  There may be a little time to catch my breath and get in some Bad-Ass Training, but I’ve always got my eye on the horizon.

So, in many ways, this transition between having a dad and not having a dad should be familiar territory—there’s what was before, the upheaval of the change, and what comes after.  What comes after has always involved some form of regrouping—determining the effects of the change and planning how to proceed.  I’m finding it’s still too soon to see the effects of my dad’s death, so it’s hard to make a plan.  I’m still wanting to be with my mom, even if I only sit and play her digital Solitaire game while my sister cleans.  I feel lonely and restless in my apartment, even with my two kitty comforters.  Since I dance with loneliness anyway, I’m assuming this is just part of the grieving process—magnification of a fairly common go-to emotion.  I’m not sleeping well, and wake up as tired as when I went to bed.  That ebbs and flows.  Like this whole process, there are difficult spells, then easier.  It’s all a dance to be approached lightly and gently.

This not-having-a-plan business, though, is bothersome.  I know it will come.  I know I’ll figure out how to gather up all the pretty ponies of my life and  get back in the saddle.  There’s a novel to finish, cards to make, books to read, friends to meet, and my curiosity about volunteering at the Animal Rescue League to follow up on.  I anticipate spending more time with my mom, but don’t know what that will look like yet.

I have to be content to let all that percolate without resolution right now.  This moment, I’m still in the upheaval stage of this transition.  The world seems odd and strangely skewed while still familiar in its October beauty.  I perform my daily tasks, even work on my Halloween cards, but there’s a befuddled undercurrent.  I put my clothes on backwards and go to the kitchen when I mean to go to the bathroom.

In some Native American tribes, this would be seen as the work of Coyote, the Trickster.  I like that.  I can imagine Coyote as the King of Transitions, sitting on a hilltop of scrub, his tongue lolling, his eyes gleeful.  He reminds me to relax into the chaos and let it all unfold at its own pace.  I’ll get a plan eventually.  All in good time.

4 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Kathryn McCullough
    Oct 22, 2011 @ 18:52:57

    Bless your heart, Sandy. I think it’s hard to plan for something you’ve never experienced before, so be gentle with yourself. I lost my dad when I was 19, and mostly I suspect it won’t be what you expect it will. Hang in there, my friend!


  2. ManicMuses
    Oct 24, 2011 @ 06:09:11

    But you do have a plan. To let things take their course, let the tides ebb and flow, and, “…let it all percolate without resolution.” It’s a good, solid plan. Stick with it 🙂


    • Sandy Sue
      Oct 24, 2011 @ 10:20:10

      It’s always hard not to grasp and hang on once I’ve locked onto some action or task. Then, when I’m not able to follow through, I guilt myself. Really don’t want to add that to the smorgasbord this time.


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