Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Grief
My dad died just a little over a month ago, and this morning is a rough one. I am not sure why this morning rather than any other morning, I just know that my heart is heavy today. I have been picturing him with the nasal canula for his oxygen, using his walker, trying to help myself overcome the waves of pain by remembering how he was suffering.
He was only 68 years old.
My cousin, Ann, prepared the most beautiful DVD for Dad's service and as I watched it, I was struck with how adorable he was as a child. He had so much promise. A man called on the day of the celebration of life, who had seen Dad's picture in the paper and said what a hero he had been to those in their town. This man had been 7 years younger, but remembered Dad for his kindness, for his athletic ability (held the record for the 100yd run and was the top running back in football).
He didn't fulfill his promise in so many ways. He was stricken with alcoholism and a fear of success that seemed to hold him back. He had an artist's heart and from time to time he would express that beautifully. He did everything he did with excellence. He painted beautifully on canvas, he created from wood, he repaired shoes, he was a salesman (top in the country in his company), he sold real estate, he did a lot of things. So often, when he would become successful at something, he would stop and move on to something else, never taking advantage of his success to move to the next level.
The loss of the promise is so much of what I am grieving. I am also grieving a dad that taught me that I could do anything I wanted to do, that respected my intellect, that pushed me to be my best.
Only time heals this kind of loss.
Walk in Compassion,
Marti
He was only 68 years old.
My cousin, Ann, prepared the most beautiful DVD for Dad's service and as I watched it, I was struck with how adorable he was as a child. He had so much promise. A man called on the day of the celebration of life, who had seen Dad's picture in the paper and said what a hero he had been to those in their town. This man had been 7 years younger, but remembered Dad for his kindness, for his athletic ability (held the record for the 100yd run and was the top running back in football).
He didn't fulfill his promise in so many ways. He was stricken with alcoholism and a fear of success that seemed to hold him back. He had an artist's heart and from time to time he would express that beautifully. He did everything he did with excellence. He painted beautifully on canvas, he created from wood, he repaired shoes, he was a salesman (top in the country in his company), he sold real estate, he did a lot of things. So often, when he would become successful at something, he would stop and move on to something else, never taking advantage of his success to move to the next level.
The loss of the promise is so much of what I am grieving. I am also grieving a dad that taught me that I could do anything I wanted to do, that respected my intellect, that pushed me to be my best.
Only time heals this kind of loss.
Walk in Compassion,
Marti
