Today is my late father's birthday. He would have been 62 years old.
People often say that time heals all wounds, but time never quite seems to be enough for me. With each new year, I expect the days that pass without my dad here to become easier. But, since the birth of our Jack, special days like holidays and birthdays are actually a bit more difficult. I do not think that the grief over the untimely death of my dad has ever left, nor do I expect it to ever go completely away. I'm not sure that time heals all; instead I think we just get a little better at coping.
It's days like today that I wish more than anything ... more than all the money and happiness in the universe, more than acceptance of all people of the world, more than peace on earth ... that my dad was here. I so badly want him here to meet Jack, to watch him grow up, and to bear witness to the wonderful human being that has been created, partly because of him. On days like this, I cannot help but think about all the things my dad has missed in the 7 and a half years that he has been gone from this world. All seven of his grandchildren, for instance.
While eating brunch today with my dear friend Lauri Lyn (who has a 5 year-old with DS), she and I talked a little about days like this. I told her how much I would love to see my dad with Jack. And, like the wonderful and encouraging friend that she always is, she gently reminded me that my dad is here and that he is watching Jack and smiling down on him at ALL times. I do believe this, but I guess I selfishly wish that it was just little more obvious sometimes.
But, then again, I look into my sweet angel's face or hear his precious giggles, and immediately realize how obviously present my father's spirit is. Like God's love is everpresent, so is my Dad's.
Although nothing will ever bring my dad back in person, his memory is very much alive, neatly packaged in these moments. It is gently awakened on days like today, particularly at times when I gaze upon this sweet face ...
I always see you, Dad, when I look upon this face. You are right here with us ... from the way this little boy smirks when he's being mischevious, right down to his tiny little button nose.
It's all you, Dad.
Happy Birthday, Big Daddy! We miss you every single day.
People often say that time heals all wounds, but time never quite seems to be enough for me. With each new year, I expect the days that pass without my dad here to become easier. But, since the birth of our Jack, special days like holidays and birthdays are actually a bit more difficult. I do not think that the grief over the untimely death of my dad has ever left, nor do I expect it to ever go completely away. I'm not sure that time heals all; instead I think we just get a little better at coping.
"I think of heaven as a garden where I shall find again
those dear ones who have made my world."
It's days like today that I wish more than anything ... more than all the money and happiness in the universe, more than acceptance of all people of the world, more than peace on earth ... that my dad was here. I so badly want him here to meet Jack, to watch him grow up, and to bear witness to the wonderful human being that has been created, partly because of him. On days like this, I cannot help but think about all the things my dad has missed in the 7 and a half years that he has been gone from this world. All seven of his grandchildren, for instance.
While eating brunch today with my dear friend Lauri Lyn (who has a 5 year-old with DS), she and I talked a little about days like this. I told her how much I would love to see my dad with Jack. And, like the wonderful and encouraging friend that she always is, she gently reminded me that my dad is here and that he is watching Jack and smiling down on him at ALL times. I do believe this, but I guess I selfishly wish that it was just little more obvious sometimes.
But, then again, I look into my sweet angel's face or hear his precious giggles, and immediately realize how obviously present my father's spirit is. Like God's love is everpresent, so is my Dad's.
Although nothing will ever bring my dad back in person, his memory is very much alive, neatly packaged in these moments. It is gently awakened on days like today, particularly at times when I gaze upon this sweet face ...
I always see you, Dad, when I look upon this face. You are right here with us ... from the way this little boy smirks when he's being mischevious, right down to his tiny little button nose.
It's all you, Dad.
Happy Birthday, Big Daddy! We miss you every single day.
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