Meandering around. Doing chores. Listening to Pandora. The Dead Sea by The Lumineers comes on.
Yes, there are times we live for somebody else
Your father died and you decided to live
It for yourself you felt, you just felt it was time
And I’m glad, cause you with cats, that’s just not right
I go from singing to crying. Just like that. Grief. It’s such a ride.
Early this morning I stood in front of the sink drinking my coffee. Looking at my dad’s jar on the window sill. It’s a beautiful old mason jar. Blue glass. His favorite. Inside are some of his ashes. I put him on the sill when we moved here two and a half years ago. It’s the best view. You can see the tress. He loved trees.
I was staring at it thinking about some things I wish I could tell him. Things that would have undoubtedly made him proud. The moment passed and I moved on. In a few months it will be seven years without him.
Then that song came on. And then the tears. I miss him. I have so many things to say to him. Some stupidly small and random, others not so small and not so random. I want to share a cup of coffee with him. I want to tell him how I fell in love with reading this past year. He loved to read. I want to tell him I graduated college and that I have a career. That I am an actual grown up. That his mom has gone off the reservation and none of us can do anything about it. That the kids are growing up too fast. That we tried to have more and couldn’t. Tell him about my new favorite bands. Tell him that I’m happy. That I’ve made mistakes but that I think I have made them right. Tell him about our family dinners every month. So many things to say, and ‘too little time’ is really ‘no time’.
I thought about wanting to go and find some pictures of him. Then I thought about my mom. And that I need to take more pictures of her. And how she will be gone one day too. I thought how much my life changed after my dad died. And how much life would change when she is gone. And that heaviness seems unbearable.
Seems like there is always too little time. But I think all the time in the world would never be enough. And that no matter the amount time spent together it will always hurt when there becomes a hole. I selfishly want more time. More time with my kids. My mom. My husband. My family. I wish none of us had to work and be apart. That we could go from one adventure to another. Laughing and living.
Figuring out how to live in balance is so hard sometimes. It is so easy to take the day for granted. Predicable routine provides us with such false security. It is so easy to say “I don’t take a single day for granted” but the reality is we do. We do when we make plans for tomorrow, next week, next month, next year. We assume that the people we make those plans with or for will still be here with us. I guess we call that ‘hope’.
Hope. A feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen. Hope keeps the lights on. Pushes us up the next hill, over the next hurdle. It is the mortar that fills up the empty spaces in our hearts. It is the fine lines around our eyes from a life laughing and smiling. It is the deep breathes we take when we find ourselves acknowledging the moment.