to my daughter
March 21, 2015 § 4 Comments
I wish I could capture the texture of a moment in type, to preserve what my mind will revisit in dreams and my camera could not contain. My fingers have been twitching with the words constricting the fullness of my joy, my mouth eager to whisper your news.
You can fly.
I’m not certain how we will convince your father you are earth bound. I keep imagining he will see the air that tugs at your feet or the windswept hair that hints at adventure, rosy cheeks and distracted smiles cautioning a secret. It seems impossible he will not read the difference in your gait or pride in your stance.
Today you road a bike. Pushing off of old fears no longer propped up by stubborn refusal, you swept across the cracked cul-de-sac of your friend’s front yard; eyes bright with certainty and your body leaning determinedly into each effort.
You are saving this revelation for your father’s birthday, gifting him something he has wanted for you longer than you wanted it for yourself; accidentally discovering pleasure along the way. Already, an hour later, I can see the temptation to try again in your restlessness.
You did this without me, my hope was too noisy. Now my joy feels too big, like I cannot possibly keep my happy still long enough to surprise your father.
I can hardly wait to watch him see you fly.
Love, Mom
my father
June 18, 2011 § Leave a comment
Sentiments and memories, unintended, pull on my heartstrings. There are moments in a lifetime when the absence of a parent seems larger than memories and love can fill. My father is alive but absent from my life, acceptance and forgiveness for the path that divided us cannot dull the pieces of the little girl nestled in my heart that wish for my father’s love. Once upon a time he was my hero. Smart and funny, charismatic and handsome, he was the person I tirelessly tried to please. Good and bad, somewhere in the shades of love there are lessons and gifts.
Sometimes our parents model examples that help us choose a healthier path. Standing on the shoulders of their mistakes we look into the horizon and try to map a path that winds around old mistakes. It is a mixed blessing, but a gift. As other’s celebrate their fathers, I am taking a moment to remember a simpler time when it was easier to love mine and to recognize the unintentional lessons I gained as my father’s daughter that guide me as I chart my journey as a mother.
scribblechic 