The world sits heavy on me. It’s difficult to be cheery and chipper when our northern communities are being destroyed by wildfires. It’s heartbreaking reading about Robertson’s Trading Post being burnt and hundreds of Indigenous artifacts destroyed. It’s not over and still no big rain. We are a tinderbox. Last week there was a horrific motorcycle accident at the bottom of the University bridge at 7:30 in the morning. A 22 year old girl was killed. There was debris everywhere. Her motorcycle travelled 100 meters before stopping. I’ve been seeing that in my mind since I heard the news.

It doesn’t help matters that my 93 year old father is also having the blues. He’s feeling the weight of his years, the not so strong and agile limbs, loss of my mother, loss of interest in life. Nothing to be happy about any more, he laments. I had to give him tough love and a talking to. I reminded him of all mom’s friends who are also widows, living alone. I reminded him that his own mother had been alone for 20 years after his father had passed.

I have to admit that my father is doing remarkably well. I had to remind him he has not ever been alone till now. He can still walk without aid in the house and uses a cane/walker on outings. He is continent, baths and dresses himself. He can still get in and out of the tub by himself. He is cooking for himself. I think it’s ok for him to have a blue day now and again. I think it’s ok for me to have the same. None of us are immune to blue days. Life is hard. We do what we can. We go outside and take a very short walk down the block and back. After he sits on the front step while I water my mother’s flowerbeds.