Where's Coach Tarsh

You may have been wondering, "Where's Coach Tarsh?" because I fell off the scene without warning. Well, on July 5, 2019, my dad, Samuel Earl Horne, died. At least that's the day that he was legally pronounced dead. I suspect he departed this Earth on July 4. 

July 5, 2019, is also the day that my life changed forever. Hearing someone say your dad is dead does something to you. And just as hard as it was for me to hear it, it had to be twice as hard for my cousin, Carla, to say it. Those words changed her world too, and the lives of her husband and children. ​

---

Seismic Universal Shift

The death of a loved one seems to cause a seismic shift in the Universe, and it should. A soul that was once here no longer has a "physical" place, and you feel the loss of their presence profoundly. Every. Single. Day. 

The death of a parent takes loss, spins it on its head, and multiplies it. The person who gave "you" life, no longer "has life." The only equivalent that I can compare it to is a parent losing a child. A person loses "the life" they gave to their son or daughter. They almost feel like parallels of each other in a strange sort of way. The giver of life is gone, and so is the life that was given. 

I've experienced loss before - grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, acquaintances, and just people you connect with in general through news and social media. The loss of my dad feels bigger and more insurmountable than anything I've ever experienced before. The feeling is one that's hard to explain, and challenging for others to grasp because you can barely understand it yourself. ​

---

Adjusting to the New 

People want to help. They want to comfort. They're just not sure how, and you don't know what to tell them. They see you functioning and going about your life, so they think you're doing alright. Not knowing some days, you're hanging on by an invisible thread, and you still need time to adapt and not just to the loss. You have to adjust to this "new you," and this "new time and space" that no longer includes your father. You want to say, "This change is a process. It takes as long as it takes. Please be patient with me. I'm not responding the same, because I'm not the same. My life changed."

I'm still flexible and adaptable. It just takes a little longer sometimes to flex and adapt, because it feels like so many changes happening at once. I'm no longer handling the affairs of my life. I also have the affairs of my dad's life to attend as well. I have to close out a life. You see, when the life of your loved one ends, it's only the beginning of everything else that must be done. ​

---

Closing Out a Life 

When you close out a life, it means that there are decisions to make, bills to pay, accounts to close, and personal effects to go through. Each step in the process brings its own set of challenges. Every time you pay a bill, answer a question, or fill out a form, it's like the grieving process starts all over again.

This is not to say that I am not functioning because I am. I created a sense of normalcy early on because I needed it. I went back to work, kept working out, and make it my mission to find moments of peace and joy through reading, prayer, and mediation. It is to say that I am operating just slightly different than I was before. But I'll be back with more pearls of wisdom and words of inspiration. I'm working on new coaching and training programs, strategies, and ideas. I just need a little more time to gather myself. ​

---

On the Mend

The one thing I often tell my clients is to "feel what you need to feel when you need to feel it, and for as long as you need to feel it." Initially, I tried to just plow through the grief, but that wasn't wise or working, so I took my own advice. I took a step back and decided to heal at my own pace and in my own way. 
So, this is where Coach Tarsh has been, and I'm on the mend. Don't worry. I'll be back!
Until next time...