“Please don’t worry about me Dad. Worry about your other kids if you have to. But not me, I’m really okay.”
My dad came to visit me yesterday and spent the night as he does a few times each year for the past few years. Each visit seems to find us sitting at my dining room table for hours chatting, catching up, and confessing. Telling each other things we’d never dare tell anyone else! With plenty of laughter thrown in. And I’d be half-truthing if I didn’t include that the occasional tear has been shed as well.
Last night was no different. Somewhere during our late night reminiscing, looking through an old photo album, and sipping our cups of water he mentioned he wished I still had my mom. (who was my best friend and passed away several years prior). “It’s okay Dad, I wouldn’t fit in that space anymore anyway. I wouldn’t go back even if I could.” He looked a bit surprised, and frankly I was surprised too. I went on to explain though that I wasn’t saying I don’t miss her and don’t want to call her on the phone so often still, that I don’t long for her advice and friendship, her companionship and even her approval. Because to all of those things, I really do.
I was blessed to have had my mom until well into my 30’s. For most of my life she was my best friend and more like a sister. I never took her friendship for granted and I wouldn’t have changed a thing about us.
It’s 2021 now. And I’m sitting across the table from my dad. My friend. My life’s cleared out in the last few years and in that clearing out I did much interpersonal work, spiritual work, and real world work. I continue to do so. Accepting the present has been a significant part of that. As has accepting everyone for who we are. I’ve accepted that my mom is no longer physically here on this Earth.
I can sit and cry or be angry and stare at the closed door that her passing had painfully slammed shut in my face. Or I can turn and walk through the door that she lovingly and gracefully opened for me on her way out.
Having grown tired of the anguish and grief that staring at the closed door was causing me, I’d finally decided to walk through the one she had opened for me. Through that door I’ve found countless gifts. And the more I explore the more I find.
One of the greatest has been moments like last night. Sitting across the table from my dad. This newfound trust and friendship with the man who gave me life.
And my hope for you, whoever you are, is that you too find the gifts that your losses have left behind.
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