Morning after Mourning

I miss my Dad so much. He joined my mother 16 years ago today after almost eight years without her. The ache of the miss of his bride was profound. His suffering was private. He held their torch high to light the way for their six grieving children. He became mother and father, grandfather and friend. He did his job well.

He exited his life privately too. Profound yet without fanfare. It was the way many seek to go. Quick. Sudden. It was his time. His exit still stupifies me. That he is not here leaves me un-whole. Yet, because of him, I am not broken. He taught me about suffering with grace, without the indulgance of unproductive wallowing. He taught me to always hold my head high. He placed the very highest priority on education and faith. He sacrificed everything unselfishly for his children and theirs. He taught me about the quiet dignity that comes with allowing things to be as they are; to recognize when things are difficult power lies in the placing of virtue higher than the details.

He was here and then he wasn’t. No warning. No time to consider life without him. Even as I write this I know I am somehow making his exit about me. It is not. It is about a life so very well lived. It is about the bottomless gratitude I feel for the placement of me with him. Thank you, soul matcher in the sky!

The morning after, deep in my mourning I knew the miss of my Dad would never go away. He would not want to be the cause of suffering so I allowed the morning to come. I continue to walk through my life with the miss of my Dad like an old friend. Always there. Even as he wasn’t.

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