I’m watching ‘Philadelphia’, eating fettucine alfredo and sipping champagne as I wear my father’s ‘Squatters’ shirt and allow the motivation to do nothing more overwhelm me.
I’ve been walking through life since his recent passing, attempting to push down the pain as I usually do, but this time it is different: it is too all encompassing, too dreadful and absolute to think about that I won’t see him again in this life.
People love to say “this life” as if there is an absolute next, and I am not sorry when I say most other belief systems compete for the same title of “my church is true”.
That is what got us into this mess in the first place.
Scratch that. I don’t call my family a mess. We have been resilient through countless tragedies of silence and too much talking, along with the crippling realization that being who we are results in loneliness and alienation.
We all struggle on different levels, but somehow, because time or fate willed it, we felt the miraculous gift of acceptance by the small few.
True acceptance. Extremely rare, but critical in our time of grief for a father who struggled to find it his whole life. My sister was a pioneer in accepting our dad for who he was and rejecting any belief system that told her otherwise. It took a bit longer for the rest of us, but we eventually did.
That is the power of family. To be presented with one way that seems to be right, then when presented with information that it could be wrong, allowing an internal debate where difficult questions are asked and the conclusion becomes, even decades later, that there is absolutely no point in hanging onto beliefs that destruct and damage true authenticity, connection, forgiveness and love.
I am lucky enough to have had that with my dad for a few short years, but it wasn’t long enough. If only we could speed up our evolution to be truly awake when it matters the most, yet as I write this I did find absolution in softly singing with my sisters, kissing my dad’s head and touching his hand gently as he was passing. I can cling to those things but feel the growing desire to be radically honest moving forward, so that the sweetest moments I have are not saved until the final moments.
Emily C. Poesie © 2020