WaLaHa the best is yet to come
” No one who has not a complete knowledge of himself will ever have a true understanding of another.”
Forgotten and stored away, collecting dust, there is an old box. The box contained a number of papers, some poems, some old letters. I open an envelope… inside a card.
As I read, tears dropped to the dusty card.
Enjoying my morning coffee, I look through a stack of mail from yesterday. I open one of the envelopes, a father’s day card from my daughter Crystal.
” No matter how grown up I my be or how independent I feel, no matter the distance between us or the time between visits, no matter what happens today or tomorrow …There’s one thing you can always be sure of, “How much I love you.” signed, I love you very much, Crystal
Sometimes I question myself, should I have stayed in a un-happy marriage ? Should I have pretended to love a wife? When there was no love, except the love I have for her being the mother of my child. Maybe I should have stayed ? It’s hard to make important decisions. I did what my heart was telling me, I learn to listen very carefully to my heart, even if it’s hurts.
Maybe, I could have done more for her growing up? I hold this card tightly in my hands, I read it again, I feel a sense of peace, Yes, I did make the right choice. I listen to this inner peace and followed my heart.
I wish I had taken the time to pick out a card for my Dad on Father’s Day. I would go to card shop, grab one, sign my name, and give it to him. Most of the time I would leave it next to his head, were he lay sleeping.
I don’t remember ever taking the time to read and select a special card just for him. I think Crystal did. The last time I was with my Dad he was in the hospital.
Laying in the mechanical bed, I held his hand. Looked in his eyes, for the first time I could see who he was. I could see his kindness… I could see his love… I could see his pain. I could see his soul.
Without speaking he would tell me how much he loved me, how much he was sorry he wasn’t there for me.
Without saying a word, I was able to forgive him. Tears in both of our eyes, we said goodbye…without the use of words.
My Father… he loved to write poems, mostly around he holidays. I enjoyed what he wrote, some were silly, some told stories. Some had a message for us, if we look deep enough to see it.
The poems were all I ever wanted after he died. My sister had them for a while. Then she gave them to me, most of them.
I now have the poems in a dusty box, deep inside the box I discovered the card.
I hold a card I gave my Dad on Father’s day, so many years ago.
A card, I did not take the time to read when I bought it.
I read it now, as tears fall from my eyes.
My Dad took the time to read it, then he kept it with his poems and his heart.
There’s something to be found in the words someone writes. Even when he who writes the words, does not fully understand all that he writes.
The last few moments I spent with my Father, made up for a life time.
