Dad & Me - October 1979.  Can you say Daddy's Girl?

Dad & Me - October 1979. Can you say Daddy's Girl?


Some summer evenings R. Darling and I will take a trail near the lake, he on foot and me astride Bluebell.  As the sun lowers itself into the velvety hills for the night, the last dying rays suddenly illuminate the chill waters of the lake and reflect back to us a vision of a world upside down.  A world like the one I’ve come to know, in which things you thought were solid and infinite shift and waver beneath you, only to be shattered with a splash.  The sudden loss and resulting emptiness spills over me as the ripples recede into infinity.

Though my mind has adjusted to the facts, my heart has not.  When I dial the numbers I still, for a moment, expect to hear that familiar voice on the other end, “Oh hi honey!  How’s my favorite daughter?” And I say something like, I’m OK.  But you know I’m your only daughter, Dad. And he says, per usual, “I know.  But you’re still my favorite.” It’s just not fair that Dad’s don’t live forever.

We picked up his ashes on Tuesday morning.  When they placed the box in my hands I wanted to feel something momentous and worthy of the moment, but all I could do was marvel at how heavy the box felt as my hands encircled it.  A lifetime of love, experience, joy, and heartbreak, reduced to this small box of ashes.  The sadness swooped in later.

But I’m here and I’m still living.  I’m returning to my blog because, well, Dad would have wanted me to.  The forever aspiring writer, he would have encouraged this life I have here, this exercise in narrative.  I wish now I’d have let him read it instead of keeping it secret.  But perhaps somewhere, his soul knows and approves.

Many heartfelt thanks to all of you special people out there who e-mailed, commented, wrote, or just spared a moment for a positive thought for me and my family through all of this.  You know who you are, and I am so grateful to each and every one of you.  Your kindness has touched and comforted me in ways I can’t even begin to express to you and I am so thankful to have you all in my life.  Here’s to hoping I can make it up to you someday, though hopefully under much happier circumstances.  You are simply the best. I know Dad would agree.

16 thoughts on “Reflections

  1. Wouldn’t it be great if they brought back Purgatory, but with phone service. I, too, miss the voice on the phone, even after 10 years. If we could have the occasional phone call, we could so much better cope with the loss of their physical presence.

    On the other hand, he’s probably peaking down at you, thinking to check on his favorite daughter. You know what he’d say, so he’s still with you.

    Hang in there……….

    Laura Hedgecock

  2. I love that picture of you with your Dad :-) It’s funny…I just posted about things that made me happy and I’m grateful I’m feeling happy again. I know Dad wouldn’t want me to feel otherwise :-)

  3. I hear the sadness in your voice, but at the same time I also hear that your voice now feels strong enough to make itself heard over here again, and that makes me happy.
    Some more {hugs} for you, sweetie; I know you probably still need them. Take care.

  4. What a truly touching post. You have shared you bare soul and now you can allow the healing that comes with time. He is physically gone but his spirit will always be with you. Thank you for sharing him with us and allow yourself the time to heal and recover. He is proud and he knows. All my love….to you and to R. Darling as well.

  5. Love the photo of you guys. So cute and you were definitely a Daddy’s girl! Your post was beautifully written too. I’m sure he would be proud. I’m so glad R. Darling is helping you through this trying time along with all your bloggy friends. :) Glad to see you back.

    You are in our prayers. M

  6. I’m so glad you’re back M. Your courage and beautiful words bring tears to my eyes. I feel blessed to call you my friend. Love to you and your R. Darling. Xoxo Claire

  7. It’s so good to have you back. What a beautiful picture of you and your Dad. I know he’s glad you’re making your way back to things you love. I have been thinking good thoughts as I work on our blanket. I’ve only got two more inches around to go so three or four rows should complete it. We will definitely dedicate this to your Dad, yes? Huge hugs to you.

  8. I’m so sorry you lost your dad (and that I didn’t realize it until just now – darn my irregular blog reading)… We lost my father-in-law to cancer three years ago yesterday.

    The picture is wonderful! The look on your face is priceless :)

  9. Such a precious photo, Maryanne. I appreciate being able to see it. And what you’ve written is so dear and poignant.

    Blessings and well wishes to you & R. Darling.

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