Remembering My Father on His Birthday

I’ve been remembering my father this week — he would have celebrated his 66th birthday today.

Here’s a question I’ve had on my mind lately: What does it mean when you don’t know what to say? I’m not talking about processing his suicide — not really, I don’t think. I suppose I’m talking more about processing the fact that he’s not here, that so much time has passed since he’s been on this earth and just the fact that I genuinely don’t know what to do with all that sometimes. It’s a lot to process, you know? And a huge milestone moment like a birthday always seems to put things in stark relief, as if I’m looking through a telescope and zeroing right in on it all.

Everything just seems heightened — my feelings, my senses — and everything is just a bit brighter, louder and weightier today. I’m sure things will ease up tomorrow, but for right now, that’s where I’m at. It’s not a bad place to be, and I could be feeling far worse than I do, but as Ms. Bear would say, it is what it is.

So I’ll be gentle with myself today and smile when I remember my father. The above photo shows one of our many beach adventures. Maybe the water is a metaphor for my emotions. The tide carries the water in and out in a never-ending cycle. There’s a rhythm and a soothing calm to it, like it will always be there. My emotions will come and go, in and out like those waves, and that’s OK. Maybe all I should do is notice them, not questioning them or judging them. Taking them for what they are? That sounds like a revolutionary choice, but perhaps it’s the best one in the end. Happy birthday, Dad…I love you… xoxo

P.S. More posts about my father…