Apparently I look like my dad, I am told on a sunny Thursday afternoon. I wasn’t expecting social media to connect me across state lines to a past I keep to myself. My dad was a character, to say the least, and to talk with someone who knew him well and hear how much he talked about me in his final days brings tears of grief trauma and joy to my heart. For the first time this bodily change has brought about a sense of peace from this grief I carry like an invisible boi carrying an invisible weighted boulder that cannot be undone. When you keep things like this inside, they become a narrative you can touch and feel; emotively tangible even if those moments are not ones others would wish to hold onto. But they are mine, and with them a heavy burden that his final days were lonely and full of fear and confusion get interwoven with texts of love and laughter about me. A river washes over me, and I am told I can have more of these conversations: about my dad who I lost but hold onto. A dad that no one remembered, but would write and send me poetry on his darker days. A moment that was etched in my pain about loneliness gets a new etching of love: he talked often about me, and I am invited to hear how. Tears. Fears. And peace. I hope my love and letters gave him the peace he deserved in a situation no one deserved to have. What a beautiful day to cry.
#loss #grief #afatherslove #adaughterslove #aboislove #remembrance #moments