It was your birthday recently...
I thought about it every time I saw the date. A few times, I felt the sadness welling up, and I pushed it down...I tried to stay busy, too busy to think, too busy to care, but that is impossible.
You would have been 74.
I went to a new church on Sunday, and I was tempted to call you and tell you about it, that was so normal for us...
There is a new normal.
I called my brother instead.
The disassembly of your life continues, and sometimes the tender areas that were exposed through this "event" are hardened...like fresh skin, it is overly sensitive until it becomes as calloused as the rest of my life.
Life goes on...
My focus is slowly returning, the seasons are changing, Spring is coming.
Life goes on...with us or without us.
I am really glad I had this opportunity with you, I was there with you at the absolute "end" of this part of your life, and I watched you as you left us and joined your family and saints that were waiting...yes, I believe in a hereafter - something has to be better than this!
It's funny the things I catch myself doing - talking to the postman, telling him about my dad that just passed away, how you were retired Army and spent 30 years at the Postal Service afterwards - you had the first pick of all vacation time - 50 years of service is hard to beat! I guess I still look for pieces of you everywhere, and I find them...
Yes, I find them. I find little things that remind me of you and I ache to talk with you just once more, to tell you how much I regret the wasted moments, the "Cat in the Cradle" times when you wanted to see me and I was "too busy"...
But I find other things too, I found the passion I thought lost.
I remember you working like a maniac when I was younger, your passion for detail, your drive to perform, the desire to be more than good - the pursuit of excellence, the pursuit of kindness. I thought you lost it when you were so sick.
I was wrong.
At the end, it was all that remained.
I understand why you held so tightly to your passion, it burned with an intensity that branded you, scarred you, became a part of you, until you were inseparable from your passion, it was who you were.
I wondered how you could stand and face your death like a hero, and not be a "victim", but fight the fight of life, all the way until you knew the plan. It was like someone whispered in your ear, "Time to stop fighting."
And you stopped.
As the disease took its toll quickly, your passion never burned out.
But you died.
I was there.
We buried you.
It was cold after you were gone. We had unusually cold weather for this region.
Last week I went to your grave. I saw the memorial to you, along with thousands of your peers, and I realized everything you ever wanted came true, even where you were buried.
Your life was full.
Your passion carried you, drove you to be the man I knew.
I thought your passion was gone.
I was wrong.
You gave it to me.
Somewhere, somehow, in one of those late nights when it was just the two of us, as you were dying and I was holding on to all we believe in, and hoping...in one of those moments when I did all I could, and all that remained was to stand...
Your passion became mine.
Now, it is in my heart. I hold this heritage tightly, even though it burns with an intensity that scars and remakes me into something I fought so hard against. Your passion, you father's passion, has become mine.
Happy Birthday Dad.
You did a good job, I am still changing.
