Five years ago, I had just made my way to Alaska, where I stayed for 5 months. It was 7 weeks after my dad had died. It was terrible, weird, amazing... My grief made me self-destructive and belligerent at times, but there were some wonderful people who kept me from completely losing my mind, whether they knew it or not. I couldn't have been more different from some of the people who became my friends. We were all there for different reasons, but I think most of us were simply trying to figure something out.
I met a man on the plane on the way up. He was probably in his 50s, a little older than my dad. He seemed a nice, godly man, with a daughter about my age. He couldn't believe that I was going so far from home so soon after my dad died; I can't remember his face, but I can remember how concerned he looked. He was probably right. It was probably an unhealthy thing to do.
Reality certainly hit hard when I came back home. It was like I had to start all over again, learning to live without Dad. But I can't regret going up there. It fulfilled a dream I'd had for years. Maybe I didn't end up with the photographs I thought I would — that's the reason I planned the trip, months before I knew what course life would take. But I did end up with some lovely people who are still in my life, and others who may be out of touch, but still live, loved, in my heart. And I never could have imagined that I would be playing ukulele rock songs at an open mic night.
There is no way I could go back and have a summer like that again. I wouldn't want to. It may not have been just what I needed, but it looked kind of like it. To that wonderful little family born up there in the panhandle, thank you for bringing beauty into a time of life that otherwise would have been a smeary smack of gray.
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