Sunday, June 17, 2007

Happy Father's Day

Whew. Going to bed soon, so it's almost over. Most of the day was all right, really. But it had it's moments.

There was a dark-haired man in Berryhill with his little girl. She looked about two or three, adorable little blonde girl. Most people realize that children are precious and should be cherished as they grow. They'll never be so small and innocent again. My thoughts went out to the little girl, though. Make him proud. Be his joy, the delight of his eyes, and learn everything you can from him. Cherish him while you've got him, because no one will ever love you like your Daddy.

Getting ready for the Father's Day concert, the one actual fatherly event I had all day. It was raining and dreary. I felt so lonely. My father told me I was his better self, the person he would be if he could do it all again. But he is also my better self, the person I am so lucky I have the chance to be like. No one will ever love me or be so proud of me as my Father. God I miss him.

The concert went well, and I felt much better as it went. But it just felt strange. Something kept nagging at me. I finally realized what it was in the Red Lion, when Zev said maybe he should call his dad. Lots of people had been talking about calling home, and the thought had been in my mind that I needed to call home...

And talk to Dad.

I just, I wanted to call him, and... and to tell him... God, everything.

The director of the choir I just joined told a beautiful story about how after his father's death, he had a dream of walking through a beautiful wood behind his dad. And then, in this gorgeous clearing his father stopped and turned, and smiled. Later in his life, he was walking in some woods, and came to a clearing, and recognized the clearing from his dream.

I visited Yellowstone shortly after my dad died, and I was pretty numb. But the mountains and the rivers spoke to me, stirred things inside of me, and I knew my father would have loved this place. I dreamed, later, that I was visiting it with him, and he was loving every minute.

And I wanted to enjoy it with him, but I couldn't. All I could think of was, "You're going to die. You have to know, I have to tell you." But I couldn't tell him. He couldn't understand me. And I couldn't just enjoy being with him again in that amazing place. I wanted to so badly, but I couldn't.

What is it about me that has such a hard time treasuring what I have because it's not everything I want? I have to work on that.

My Rice Owls did me proud today. So the day is ending on a high note. And I don't have to deal with this particular holiday for another year. Still, I wish I could have visited his grave.

Sherrie gave me a lovely idea. She said I needed to go out and buy a helium balloon, and release it and watch it float away, and that is how I can call him when I need to.

All of you who have fathers, hug them for the one I can't hug. Hope you and they had a wonderful day.

1 comment:

reb said...

There is a similar tradition in Guatemala. On November 1, the Day of the Dead, the people fly kites as a symbolic link between the dead, who are in heaven, and the living, still on earth. Kites are extra-nice because sea turtles don't mistake them for jellyfish (I remember lots of balloon-releases in elementary school until we learned about the sea turtles and they abruptly stopped).