I almost managed to make it through my day without a tear. And it wasn’t that I didn’t think about my Dad. I did. I woke up, and, first thing, I called my Mom to see how she was doing. After talking to her, I decided to make an indian rice pudding dish, called kheer, that our family makes as a tradition on the day that a loved one has passed. And, yes, all without a tear, almost very mechanically as I went through the motions of remembering him. But it wasn’t until I found myself laying in bed almost ready to sleep that I really remembered. Dinner was done. Errands had been completed. The girls were tucked in. The kitchen was tidied up. And finally I was left to where my thoughts would have taken me during the day if I had let them.
As I allowed myself the time to remember, I felt sad. My heart tugged at me very uncomfortably even five years later. You think it would get easier. And I think I almost fooled myself into thinking it was, but really I had just been preoccupied all day. Preoccupied enough to not allow myself to really feel his absence. It makes me wonder how much of life I might miss out on while I am carrying out everything on my so-called agenda?
More than anything, I hope to remember to always give myself space; space to be human, to feel, to be affected, because, hopefully, in there somewhere I will find inspiration. I am glad I had a few moments to myself to think about my Dad, the complex and the most generous person that he was.
I love you Dad and I will carry you in my hearts always.