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| She knows Halloween is coming... |
Freeze Frame
What a strange experience it is to consider what to wear and how it might define us as a family, if only for a brief moment. The process can get convoluted in the search for perfection, since we are freeze framing this day in our lives forever. Still, jeans and some of our favorite pieces worked just nicely. What you can't see are our flip flops; Ginger swimming in the pond behind us; Miss M's missing miniature barrette - the only one small enough in this world to attach to her hair. I imagine what I will reminisce on: miss M almost one year old; my best bud Gingy (and our matching hair color?!); and D and I, together ten years. It is our family, 2011.
My only wish this year has been to get my two favorite girls in a professional frame for, well, um... framing. In any case, Rachel delivered even though one of them was more interested in rescuing a bone left behind from another four-legged genius. Gingy has never been too kind to the paparazzi. Miss M is another beast all together. She is a seasoned expert with over a year of photo shoots under her belt.
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| this moment stills my heart |
These Days Without You
Big Head Todd & The Monsters
I was hoping to write an upbeat piece today remembering my dad but I'm not there yet. There are great memories to be shared and laughed about, but for now I still feel sad and miss the man.
I knew this anniversary would come but I like to play games in my head. Two days ago I thought, "I have two days until I knew my dad was dead" (though I believe he died on the 12th). My sisters and I all have our own intimacies learning about his death. We have the aching in common but we all have separate moments burned in to our lives that leave each of us breathless. I take comfort in knowing we have each other.
A few weeks ago Nancy was talking about how it had been more than a year since she talked to him on the phone. At the time I figured I was approaching that milestone too and it made my heart ache anew. The last thing I said to him was to check his e-mail. When he asked why, I said I would be sending photos of the baby. That moment never came to pass. October 2nd was the last time I spoke with my dad.
It’s funny what can happen in a year. I wish I recorded all the moments in the past 365 that I wanted to discuss with my father. I never got to tell him I have a daughter - though I would bet money he would have said, "I know." I never got to ask, “How did you survive with six girls?” I never said, "thank you, thank you, a million thank yous" as a newly inducted parent. Some of these things I fantasize as conversations that could have happened when in reality maybe they never would have taken place. Still though, it’s hard not to focus on the moments without him. Miss M will never know his presence outside of the stories I tell her. I won’t hear his voice again or his laugh…oh man, his laugh was the best and making him laugh felt unbelievable. I'll never again feel silly around him or have the opportunity to glean his insight or stand next to him and wrap my arm around him.
Daily I’m reminded of how fierce love can be between a girl and her father. I greet miss M every morning only to find her response is “dada”. Once she finishes her bottle, she crawls to our room to say hi to him as well. The other night they were crawling around together upstairs when I came home. The pitter-patter sound warmed my heart. At one point in time I was just as excited about being near my dad too.
This past year has provided many moments where my earliest memories resurface through my interactions with miss M. I remember how it felt to sit in his lap or hug his legs; how I would squeeze his fingers; how he would sometimes call me “tweety” as if he had a lisp. These are things I never expected to mentally dig up but rather naturally unfolded in the presence of her. These markers are the subtle memories of our life together. I accept them as the "signs" I was aching for when he died. For me they stand in place of the more ethereal things that, once I was honest with myself, were not to be experienced. For to know him, was to know what he thought about faith, politics, and current events. He was gone and with it came an aching silence.
It is all around; at times I feel it immeasurably and at times I forget it is there. It is a silence so profound I can hear it during moments when I'm surrounded by a sea of people and experiences. It sneaks up on me as well, when I think I'm doing just fine.
Time moves more swiftly as we age. This silly game of living; this world we know; these lives we live are mere moments. Every minute is seemingly so profound and important; every second slips through to the next like a fluid taking no specific shape for too long. Still, the beauty is that we long for it to never end.
I was hoping to write an upbeat piece today remembering my dad but I'm not there yet. There are great memories to be shared and laughed about, but for now I still feel sad and miss the man.
I knew this anniversary would come but I like to play games in my head. Two days ago I thought, "I have two days until I knew my dad was dead" (though I believe he died on the 12th). My sisters and I all have our own intimacies learning about his death. We have the aching in common but we all have separate moments burned in to our lives that leave each of us breathless. I take comfort in knowing we have each other.
A few weeks ago Nancy was talking about how it had been more than a year since she talked to him on the phone. At the time I figured I was approaching that milestone too and it made my heart ache anew. The last thing I said to him was to check his e-mail. When he asked why, I said I would be sending photos of the baby. That moment never came to pass. October 2nd was the last time I spoke with my dad.
Through his death I have redefined a piece of myself I wish I met years ago. A self that wants to indulge in conversations I used to be too scared to have or to say things I might otherwise let slide. This leads to an aching for things left unsaid and a deeper hurt that I came to understand this perspective through loosing him.
I have a new respect for this moment and trying not to let it pass. There is a keen awareness that nothing is concrete and letting go of the things I can't control will serve me best. Life is short. The way it can rip you to pieces and embrace you at the same time is unfathomable. I have a deeper love for my family and for those friends who have become my family. As strange as it sounds, I also have respect for those people who never will be the former, because they too are writing their own story every day.
It’s funny what can happen in a year. I wish I recorded all the moments in the past 365 that I wanted to discuss with my father. I never got to tell him I have a daughter - though I would bet money he would have said, "I know." I never got to ask, “How did you survive with six girls?” I never said, "thank you, thank you, a million thank yous" as a newly inducted parent. Some of these things I fantasize as conversations that could have happened when in reality maybe they never would have taken place. Still though, it’s hard not to focus on the moments without him. Miss M will never know his presence outside of the stories I tell her. I won’t hear his voice again or his laugh…oh man, his laugh was the best and making him laugh felt unbelievable. I'll never again feel silly around him or have the opportunity to glean his insight or stand next to him and wrap my arm around him.
Daily I’m reminded of how fierce love can be between a girl and her father. I greet miss M every morning only to find her response is “dada”. Once she finishes her bottle, she crawls to our room to say hi to him as well. The other night they were crawling around together upstairs when I came home. The pitter-patter sound warmed my heart. At one point in time I was just as excited about being near my dad too.
This past year has provided many moments where my earliest memories resurface through my interactions with miss M. I remember how it felt to sit in his lap or hug his legs; how I would squeeze his fingers; how he would sometimes call me “tweety” as if he had a lisp. These are things I never expected to mentally dig up but rather naturally unfolded in the presence of her. These markers are the subtle memories of our life together. I accept them as the "signs" I was aching for when he died. For me they stand in place of the more ethereal things that, once I was honest with myself, were not to be experienced. For to know him, was to know what he thought about faith, politics, and current events. He was gone and with it came an aching silence.
It is all around; at times I feel it immeasurably and at times I forget it is there. It is a silence so profound I can hear it during moments when I'm surrounded by a sea of people and experiences. It sneaks up on me as well, when I think I'm doing just fine.
Time moves more swiftly as we age. This silly game of living; this world we know; these lives we live are mere moments. Every minute is seemingly so profound and important; every second slips through to the next like a fluid taking no specific shape for too long. Still, the beauty is that we long for it to never end.
PF23
And So The Challenge Continues
This is an excerpt from my journal exactly one year ago today. It is about my pregnancy and approaching due date but seems suiting on the anniversary of my dad's death (though I would not know about his passing for two more days).
There was always going to be a time I arrived at this moment. A time that would mark the end of a chapter and the beginning of a new one. And as all things in my life, I would find myself deep in the folds of the change – adjusting – because I am too steady to react otherwise...
How refreshing to find in this whole process the mantra I’ve come to learn the best is that now I am truly writing my own story. Not that I wasn’t before but perhaps I didn’t have enough confidence or trust in the story I was writing. Could a new human drive that inspiration for me to accept myself, dare I say love myself as much as I will love this kid?! The expectations can be overwhelming but I do find the need to get this all down before I walk in a building one person and walk out another. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be and I like to imagine that I will do just fine. Love has grown immeasurably in my heart and in my life these past few years. It has been a softening of sorts, a coming to terms, and an opening of my eyes. I see the direction I want to pursue. I don’t want to loose some of that edge in my soul but I do want to make myself available to the possibilities; available to respond as a strong, intelligent, kind-hearted, confident woman. It is clear that being that person is the best way for me to be a good mom. And so the challenge begins.
In retrospect, my father was a parent who viewed his children as people. He provided but more importantly he treated us with respect, he laughed with us, and let us cry on his shoulder. He exposed us to life and then let us share our adventures with him. This is the legacy he left behind. I will succeed if I can provide my daughter with the same limitless love.
There was always going to be a time I arrived at this moment. A time that would mark the end of a chapter and the beginning of a new one. And as all things in my life, I would find myself deep in the folds of the change – adjusting – because I am too steady to react otherwise...
How refreshing to find in this whole process the mantra I’ve come to learn the best is that now I am truly writing my own story. Not that I wasn’t before but perhaps I didn’t have enough confidence or trust in the story I was writing. Could a new human drive that inspiration for me to accept myself, dare I say love myself as much as I will love this kid?! The expectations can be overwhelming but I do find the need to get this all down before I walk in a building one person and walk out another. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be and I like to imagine that I will do just fine. Love has grown immeasurably in my heart and in my life these past few years. It has been a softening of sorts, a coming to terms, and an opening of my eyes. I see the direction I want to pursue. I don’t want to loose some of that edge in my soul but I do want to make myself available to the possibilities; available to respond as a strong, intelligent, kind-hearted, confident woman. It is clear that being that person is the best way for me to be a good mom. And so the challenge begins.
In retrospect, my father was a parent who viewed his children as people. He provided but more importantly he treated us with respect, he laughed with us, and let us cry on his shoulder. He exposed us to life and then let us share our adventures with him. This is the legacy he left behind. I will succeed if I can provide my daughter with the same limitless love.
PF22
catch up... I can't pick...
Inspired
PF21
a series...
Change
Blind Melon
I was craving this song all weekend. I think it was the colorful aspen leaves that made me focus on the word, "CHANGE", which is why I was trying to retrieve the tune in my head. For some reason though, I was thinking it was a Candlebox song and I couldn't quite match up the lyrics with the music in my memory. When we got back to Denver I anchored myself with a google search and in seconds retrieved the video. The song is sadder than I remember but still a great tune none-the-less.
I'm in the mood for some change myself. Vibrant fall colors make change seem inspired. I just dug through my closet and purged clothes to donate and switched out my summer wardrobe for winter wear. I like doing something physical to loosen things up; it makes me feel like I'm inspiring the more ethereal stuff to follow suit.
The universe might be sending messages to me as well. It's been a week of tripping over things, dropping a wooden puzzle on my foot, pinching my fingers - I just can't figure out why. Sometimes I think that is the universe's way of physically trying to connect me to the more ethereal stuff. My mantra lately has been "I'm listening" but if that was really the case I imagine I would be in less physical pain.
I’m trying to wrap my head around my philosophy on life. I’ve always wanted to live a comedy: to nicely wrap things up at the end of the day with a laugh and sigh a restful relief. However life is much messier than that and not so controllable. What we do defines us every day but I think it’s really not actually WHAT we do as much as HOW we do it. Life interjects itself on to the clean white possibility of our fate. We become soiled, used. Some embrace the change. Some lament the change. Some fall down and get back up again and again. But we all move through the cycle.
I imagine the leaves don't regret the loss of summer; they just naturally turn from green to lime to yellow to red. And then, they let go.
I was craving this song all weekend. I think it was the colorful aspen leaves that made me focus on the word, "CHANGE", which is why I was trying to retrieve the tune in my head. For some reason though, I was thinking it was a Candlebox song and I couldn't quite match up the lyrics with the music in my memory. When we got back to Denver I anchored myself with a google search and in seconds retrieved the video. The song is sadder than I remember but still a great tune none-the-less.
I'm in the mood for some change myself. Vibrant fall colors make change seem inspired. I just dug through my closet and purged clothes to donate and switched out my summer wardrobe for winter wear. I like doing something physical to loosen things up; it makes me feel like I'm inspiring the more ethereal stuff to follow suit.
The universe might be sending messages to me as well. It's been a week of tripping over things, dropping a wooden puzzle on my foot, pinching my fingers - I just can't figure out why. Sometimes I think that is the universe's way of physically trying to connect me to the more ethereal stuff. My mantra lately has been "I'm listening" but if that was really the case I imagine I would be in less physical pain.
I’m trying to wrap my head around my philosophy on life. I’ve always wanted to live a comedy: to nicely wrap things up at the end of the day with a laugh and sigh a restful relief. However life is much messier than that and not so controllable. What we do defines us every day but I think it’s really not actually WHAT we do as much as HOW we do it. Life interjects itself on to the clean white possibility of our fate. We become soiled, used. Some embrace the change. Some lament the change. Some fall down and get back up again and again. But we all move through the cycle.
I imagine the leaves don't regret the loss of summer; they just naturally turn from green to lime to yellow to red. And then, they let go.
And oh as I fade away, they'll all look at me and say,
Hey look at him I'll never live that way
But that's ok their just afraid to change...
When life is hard you have to change