Thursday, October 1, 2009
It’s Sep 30th and I am "home"
It’s the first time I've been here since my father’s memorial service.
He would be 80 today.
But, he is not here.
I noticed it as I lifted my own suitcase in to the trunk at the airport.
I'm realizing a little better what life must be like for my Mom, now.
His things are here.
The garage, the Studebaker model, the chair he napped through Donahue in and the chair he used when he was sick, the crepe myrtle, the aviary, the nail kit, the piano, the organs.
But his touch, his spirit is missing, it’s as if the music in our home has died.
Reality is easier to ignore at a distance.
I didn’t expect it.
I thought I would sense him here, feel his presence more.
What I am struck by, as I get used to him not being here, is the reminder that life is not about our stuff.
It is about what we do while we have breath.
And he did a lot.
And, how strong and brave my Mom and brother have been to continue breathing here without him.