love endures…

Heya Bab,

I’ve haven’t done this, haven’t written one to you for a while, but tonight was one of those nights when I was left wide awake with words for you buzzing round in my head.

I wish you were here. I wish I could share my excitement, tell you my plans, make you just a little jealous of my trip. You would be worried by some things and I could talk to you about the things that I’m worried about. I could tell you what I feel without needing to neaten it up or make it pretty or practical.

I do talk to you, do tell you.. but I wish you could talk back, that I could read the messages voluble in your eyes.

I wish you could tell me it means something, that there is a final chapter, a happy ending, just past the point when you’re not quite sure it will work out alright. I wish I had a point of certainty, a rock.

Time has morphed and bent. It is a nothing and yet sometimes these eight months feels like I have lived them for so long.

From here your death looks different. I don’t have to tell it like a tragedy, I can let it be something that simply is. I can sit with it the way I sat with you. Now it is just another part of a long story, and it is not the bit I read back to the most.

You’re often in my thoughts. Your love, our memories, your life is all around me and I’m glad that I can bring you to me often, mostly without the start of pain. I never wanted my grief to become a box I locked you in and I’m glad to voice you, call you, let you be and breathe. I would not want my sadness to push you into another blackness, another death.

I miss you, always. That sometimes makes me cry, yet half my tears are happy ones. I had you in my life and there is part of you that is always with me, that will always be with me. I am so thankful for that.

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to be a dad and how many fall far short.

As I walk through cold days with your love wrapped around me like a scarf, even long months after you are long gone, it is hard to imagine you any less than you were, to think there could have been another version of us. But the thought reminds me to be glad of all I had, to hold the best of it, to give love with the same generosity.

We were not an ideal family (though I’m never quite sure what that is). There was plenty that wasn’t perfect and I try to remember that when I’m rose tinting you and changing the picture into something that is easier to sell.

I remember times when I was angry with you, didn’t talk to you. But I can’t think of a time when I didn’t know you loved me and you knew my love for you. It is good to be reminded that love can flourish in rocky ground, cross over hard words and long droughts and endure, bloom, flourish. How much it endures really is amazing.

Love ya,

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13 Responses to love endures…

  1. Thanks for dropping by my blog and in turn, leading me to yours. My mom passed away six years ago and I often write her letters still. What you express here is one of the best and most commiserate expressions of love, grief and peace that passes after a parent’s death that I have ever read. Thank you, for your beautiful writing and for expressing what so many others feel, but cannot find the words.

  2. Kathy says:

    I lay awake last night, words buzzing around in my head. It often happens…I close my eyes to sleep, words to come mind, those words form sentences, then become paragraphs. I cannot turn my mind off and have to get up and write. I will not sleep until I do so. Although last night’s words were not those of a blog or for my book, but a letter to a man who is very special to me. Someone who has been in my life on and off for 20 years now. A man who was recently diagnosed with colorecetal cancer. Although this man at age 85 has already lived a long and happy life, I want him to beat the cancer. I want him to win and keep living. He has touched lives of so many in his role as a pastor and even now after his retirement. He devoted his life to helping others and is the kindest man I know. He presided over my mom’s funeral. I hadn’t seen him in almost 13 years, but when our eyes met and he spoke, it was like I had seen him a few weeks ago. Now I see him about once a week. I had to write a letter to him telling him what an inspiration he has been to me and how he’s made a deep impact on my life. Once this 2 page typed letter was done, I was able to sleep.

    Kathy

    P.S. Ours was not the ideal family either. But it was my family and my mom filled our lives with her love. I never realized all that she did, the impact she made on me, on my life, until she was gone.

    • Hello Kathy, I am glad you found a way to put the words down and I do hope you gave it to him. I often feel stupidly silly tearfully grateful for the many people who I thought would be walk on parts in my life and yet have changed me, loved me, supported me in ways I could have never imagined. One of the many positives I found in my dad’s death was the simple truth that we can never tell someone how much they mean to us too many times! Some months back I set myself the challenge of writing to some of the people who really meant a lot to me. The other day I saw one of them and she got choked up just trying to tell me how much receiving that letter at that time had meant to her. I was really glad that I quit being so British and got over my embarrassment to simply say how wonderful she was.

  3. Maybe the real loss in death would be clinging to the tragedy and allowing the life that preceded to slip away, or be locked in a vault, inaccessible. You remembering all of you dad and the closeness and distance between you is a gift to you both, and evidence that our love transcends time and space. Thank you for voicing what many of us would like to say, but can’t find the words.

    • Hello Growthlines, ah yes, you hit the nail right on the head! That is very much what I was trying to express.

      One of my favourite blogs is by Kristie West (linked in my blog roll). I’m not sure if you’ve ever visited her blog, but one of the many of her thoughts that really resonated with me was the tragedy of letting grief locks the best, the real authenticity, of a loved one away.

  4. cuhome says:

    Beautifully written piece. I felt your words inside, somewhere deep.

  5. ‘ I never wanted my grief to become a box I locked you in and I’m glad to voice you, call you, let you be and breathe. ‘

    oh. my. THAT is one BEAUTIFULLY written line. It is Perfect! It captures so perfectly where I want to go and your words offer a path..

    I am so moved by your journey(s) I find real inspiration in your walk with grief. I am grateful for you and this beautiful writing you do.

    take care, Jen

    • Dear Jen, I have had a quite few days which is why I haven’t replied before but it is always so lovely to read your comments and I am so glad what I was trying to say made sense! Some of my posts feel like excavations where I dig up things I need to dust off to see more clearly myself. Thank you for the compliment of inspiration – it is very much mutual! Laura x

  6. As part of the Versatile Blogger Award, I have chosen you and your blog as one to be recognized as a blog that I find to be creative, reflecting the thoughts and feelings of the author in a way that touches the hearts and mind of others. There are so many to choose from – Thank you for sharing your world ….
    Please feel free to post the award on your site.
    http://grandfathersky.wordpress.com/grandfatherskys-blogs/

  7. Dear Laura, I’m so sorry I’ve been totally away from your lovely blog these past few weeks.
    You wouldn’t believe me if I told you how busy it gets working for a newspaper in January. It really makes no sense but apparently everything has been happening too fast and if January doesn’t give us a break, we might run out of news for the rest of the year!

    This is such a lovely post… I often think about what it really means to be a dad too, mostly because I really want to have children, and I’m happy that I can totally answer that question just thinking about my dad.

    How awesome is it when we know people aren’t perfect but that they’re still precious somehow? Perfection is so overrated. My family isn’t perfect but honestly I don’t think I’d deserve one of those haha (:

    P.S: I’ve been posting over tumblr… I *might* be deactivating my blogspot soon, so head over there to check some news, it’s linked to my name here.

    • Ohhhh I was just thinking about you! Catch up on your reading and I will forgive you ;)… or just send me an email and let me know how you’ve been… or come visit me in Peru… lol

      • What the heck? Peru?! I just MIGHT! Where in Peru? Are you freaking serious? Hahaha do you use like, skype, messenger or something? Maybe we should talk more regularly (: let me know by emailing me. Yes, I’m being demanding.

  8. Casey B says:

    Thank you for an engaging and informative blog – I’ve nominated you for a Versatile Blogger Award.

    http://versatilebloggeraward.wordpress.com/vba-rules/

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