Bradley | Jul 12, 2019 | 0
My dad is always with me.
Stories are fiction until you experience them.
My dad is no longer physically around. I’m still not quite sure what to do about that. But I’m “allowing” him to be around … and he’s around. I don’t really get it, but I’m not asking questions. I’m just enjoying it.
Disclaimer: I was never someone who really “believed” in things like the afterlife and angels and whatnot. I didn’t discard it, people can believe whatever they want. In fact, I want them to—especially my kids. But a monumental event in your life changes you, opens you up to new ideas, but also truly shifts who you are. Not unlike an earthquake.
I’m trying to “allow” more in my life. Let be things that are. Let go. Accept. Surrender. It’s not give up or give in and it’s also not just letting fate rule. I know what I want, how I’d like things to be, I’m clear (and more and more clear) about what they are and maybe what I’m doing is allowing what brings me in that direction.
Again with the water and boats. Maybe even like a little toy boat in a forest during a rainstorm. You put the boat down and it goes with the flow. It turns where it will turn and you can guide it as you like, even pick it up and move it to another stream, but it’s pretty much going to go where the flow is going. Still, you have some control, but you’d like to let it go where it’s naturally going to go.
I’m allowing my dad to be around. I don’t know if I can actually see him, at least not with my eyes, but it’s as if he’s there and I can sense him through the corner of my eyes. When I close my eyes, if I’m still enough, I can indeed see him.
He has a different way that he holds himself. I’m not sure how I notice this. But something like he has a secret, like he knows something that I don’t. Or maybe he’s just “all knowing,” like a god. He has something of a knowing grin on his face, but on a Mona Lisa level, barely perceptible. In fact, maybe it’s not even there, maybe it’s just my perception of how I see him.
You learn about things when you tell others. I was telling a friend, after a few beers and I was loosening up, about how I somehow had a new relationship with my dad. He said that I needed to write this down. It does matter when people “tell” you to do. Listen to your friends.
But he’s so there. It’s so reassuring. My sister talks about how she already misses asking his opinion about things. From raising her kids to mathematics to how to fix the broken appliance. But somehow he’s there for me. I wonder if he’ll help me out with things. Maybe he’ll help me fix the broken faucet. Maybe he’ll help me with creativity on upcoming stories for books.
I’m no expert in this area, but I have the feeling I’ll get better at this. I think we’re already have something of conversations. He seems to know things that he didn’t know before. Again, maybe it’s that all knowing thing. Maybe it’s just what I am expecting or wanting him to say or know. I don’t know. I don’t know anything.
Maybe he does. We’ll see.