Nine years ago my life changed.  A change, while I was vaguely prepared for, ultimately I was unprepared for.

Death has a way of doing that to a person.

My father passed from this plain of existence after a long battle with a terrible illness that he had no chance against.  Yet, he held hope.  Hope that a cure would provide a Hail Mary in the last seconds of the fourth quarter of his life.  Hope that he would be able to draw breath without coughing.  Hope that he would simply live to see his family continue to grow.

While that Hail Mary never materialized, a kernel of hope was planted in the field scorched by the flames of grief.

The funny thing about the aftermath of fire, the soil is often enriched by the  layers of ash that cover the ground.  Eventually the seeds tucked away in the soil, those kernels of hope, germinate.  New life springs forth from the ashes of our grief.  Giving us a path, a purpose, a lease on the rest of our life.

The last nine years have been a journey of growth and change.  As they should be.

I remember and celebrate the man who is my father.  Death can not change that fact.  He has simply moved on to the next step in our eternal path.

Once in a while I hear a belly laugh, looking quickly around I realize that Dad’s around. And, I’m grateful.

About Leila

I hail from the East and view the world as my playground. I'm opinionated. My dog is my co-pilot, but my cat navigates better. I'm only limited by my imagination. While there are terrible things that happen in the world I am responsible for making good things happen where I live, and that affects the world at large making it a better place.
This entry was posted in Family, Gratitude, Life, Opinion, Personal, Remembrance and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

7 Responses to Change

  1. Slamdunk says:

    Wonderful post about your father–glad you have the memories.

  2. A. Nony Mouse says:

    I remember that day when you received the heart-wrenching phone call. My heart and soul reached out to you in that agonizing moment – as it still does even now across the many miles which separate.

    I *know* your father is still around keeping careful and loving watch over you. You are, after all, his first-born… his beloved daughter.

    Thank you for sharing such wonderful thoughts this wintery day.

  3. Jeni says:

    I liked what you said about the fire and ashes. It is an excellent analogy- thank you.

  4. daisydog says:

    Its so hard to lose those you love. I know, I really do.

  5. Pingback: 2010 in review | cre8vekaos's universe

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