Footprints

 I’m actively grieving again. And it doesn’t make sense. A couple weeks ago, my sister, my husband and I went to San Francisco. My Dads house is being sold. We wanted to say goodbye. 

I never lived in that house. I only stayed there since my late teens. I have lots of happy memories spending time with my Dad and Georgia. 

I’ve been obsessively thinking about the garden; the back garden is a combination of formal and beautifully whimsical. Somehow I feel and felt Dad and Georgia there. 

It’s the last footprint, that house and garden, of my life in San Francisco. I’m sad, about Dad being gone. I miss him; his voice, his thoughtfulness, his sensitivity.. the parts of him like me. And Georgia’s gravelly voice, her independence, stubbornness, her beautiful art. It’s all imprinted, suffused into the house. It’s Place.  Landscape. The last footprint.