“My father, now in heaven, is a keeper of the birds. And his eye is on his sparrow.” ~ Don Williams, Jr.

I felt his presence again tonight. A brief light passed by my kitchen window and it was an instant recognition. He’s coming for her. It’s soon, I feel it’s soon. Time passes and I am worn out, needing a break, wishing I could just take a long drive with a comforting arm around my shoulder, song in my ear, and close my eyes. Reaching out is not something I feel particularly adept at. A good friend is giving me the support I need to start expecting more and not feeling bad about asking for help. Yet I can’t seem to ask the big question, the thing I need. I need to go see his grave, and I need someone to go with me so I don’t have to make the drive home afterwards. No one wants to get close to someone with death still lingering like dirt under the fingernails. Few will bring you soup. You’re seen as a liability, and faulted for not being ‘over it’.

But how do you get Over It. Slowly but surely, life does take over again, but when the doorbell rings, I still answer it. I still feel the familiar cycle of would-he-have-ever-changed-if-he’d-not-died. And the tragedy is in the probability – because it’s not likely he would have ever been the man I needed, the father, the mentor.

Yet now there is a new comfort. The realization I had tonight that, without the black-sheep dynamic I was unknowingly thrown into so many years ago, with his death he is now back to being My Dad. No one else’s.


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