The smell of bacon frying in the early Saturday morning air. The smile on a brother’s face that looks like his. A walk with a friend on a spring morning, growth in the air. All threads that bind...to the present, future, past. We live in the present moment, the only moment we have, yet we carry everything with us. I’m always slightly in awe of folks who say they live entirely in the present...the past doesn’t matter, the future is unknown. In awe, but skeptical…and a bit sad for them. Let go of what doesn’t serve, of course. But there are some parts of the past that live in me and I don’t want to let them go. The love of a father, four years gone today, for instance.
I don’t relive my dad’s final moments. I remember them, and am eternally grateful I was there for them, but it’s his life I remember. March 27th has become for me a day when I get to sit with my father once again, and bask in his love and influence.
So, this morning I rode on my dad’s broad shoulders, just as I had as a little girl surveying the world. What a view I had from up there! It was there I learned that I was enough, that my words were important enough to listen to, that someone in the world loved me just for being me.
This morning, I did Saturday morning errands as we used to. First stop - the hardware store, the smell of fresh cut lumber rich and loamy. Second stop - the candy store for a shared Snickers bar (that we didn’t tell Mom about) and a bottle of Coke. It was on those mornings I learned that my company was good. I had stories to share that were worth listening to.
This morning, I performed on stage in my high school play, singing and dancing my heart out while my dad watched from the audience, tears in his eyes. It was there I learned that living joyfully and with passion was a birthright, and that I was good enough.
This morning I chatted with my dad, teary eyed the night before leaving for college…, the night before moving to a new city hours away to start a new job... the night before getting married... and heard him tell me that going ahead with my plan was great if that’s what I wanted, but that it was never too late to change my mind and take a new path. It’s never too late.
This morning I watched my dad hold his new granddaughter, and the next one, and his grandson, and another granddaughter and saw his love radiating out to embrace them.
I used to worry about when my dad would leave this Earth. Like, for years. From the time I was a little girl, I worried about looking all around this world and not being able to find him anywhere. And when, four years ago, he left, it was as devastating as I imagined it would be. At first. But devastation turned soft and what remained got stronger. I’ll always miss my father’s physical presence on this Earth, but here’s the thing. I haven’t lost him. I carry him with me everywhere I go. I see his kindness reflected in his grandchildren, I hear his laughter in my brothers, I feel his presence in my heart.
I’m forever grateful he was my father.
I don’t relive my dad’s final moments. I remember them, and am eternally grateful I was there for them, but it’s his life I remember. March 27th has become for me a day when I get to sit with my father once again, and bask in his love and influence.
So, this morning I rode on my dad’s broad shoulders, just as I had as a little girl surveying the world. What a view I had from up there! It was there I learned that I was enough, that my words were important enough to listen to, that someone in the world loved me just for being me.
This morning, I did Saturday morning errands as we used to. First stop - the hardware store, the smell of fresh cut lumber rich and loamy. Second stop - the candy store for a shared Snickers bar (that we didn’t tell Mom about) and a bottle of Coke. It was on those mornings I learned that my company was good. I had stories to share that were worth listening to.
This morning, I performed on stage in my high school play, singing and dancing my heart out while my dad watched from the audience, tears in his eyes. It was there I learned that living joyfully and with passion was a birthright, and that I was good enough.
This morning I chatted with my dad, teary eyed the night before leaving for college…, the night before moving to a new city hours away to start a new job... the night before getting married... and heard him tell me that going ahead with my plan was great if that’s what I wanted, but that it was never too late to change my mind and take a new path. It’s never too late.
This morning I watched my dad hold his new granddaughter, and the next one, and his grandson, and another granddaughter and saw his love radiating out to embrace them.
I used to worry about when my dad would leave this Earth. Like, for years. From the time I was a little girl, I worried about looking all around this world and not being able to find him anywhere. And when, four years ago, he left, it was as devastating as I imagined it would be. At first. But devastation turned soft and what remained got stronger. I’ll always miss my father’s physical presence on this Earth, but here’s the thing. I haven’t lost him. I carry him with me everywhere I go. I see his kindness reflected in his grandchildren, I hear his laughter in my brothers, I feel his presence in my heart.
I’m forever grateful he was my father.