One step at a time
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Barbara,
This is a beautiful story, it sounds like your son instinctively knew what you needed, he is a very smart kid. You look back on the walks with your father and your son looks forward to making those same memories with you.
Patty
How wonderful that you had such a great relationship with your Dad. I think you are right – in the future, you will think fondly of those walks, and the times you had togetehr. The price we have to pay for such closeness is the terrible grief we are suffereing through, but, I know we wouldn’t have traded those days and those relationships for anything.
Karen – I know, we are surprised to learn that grief is not a straight line
– it doesn’t keep going up – getting easier, does it? – it is up and down, and sometimes I don’t even know what sends me “down” – it just happens and there I am – in the pits. I do notice that, as time goes by, the ups are lasting longer, and that help so much.My thoughts are with you both – Joyce C.
Hi Kid. You have walked many paths with your father! Sometimes I feel, when you post, that you are all in the house next door to me and all I have to do is go knock on your door and have a visit. Prayers are being said daily for you and your family.
What a lovely tribute to your father. I know the pain that is in your heart. It seems to increase as times goes on which really surprises me as I thought the days would get easier.
Prayers of peace,
KarenYesterday it was 70 degrees in the Chicagoland, and it was a welcome change from our dreary dismal weather we have been experiencing for 6 months, so I decided to take a run. My son, who hasn’t offered in a long time, offered to ride his bike ahead of me. There are two routes I choose between. They are both 2.5 miles, but one is around the neighborhood, and the other one is down a bike path that is near my house. I haven’t taken the neighborhood route since the day after Thanksgiving. I remember that day b/c my dad had had an Oncology consultation, where the Onc basically told us the spots on his lungs were cancer, and we could try a chemo for a few months which has had some success. The Onc didn’t seem too confident, and neither was I. Later that day I was in my kitchen, and I heard a familiar knock on my back door, and it was my dad. He said “lets go, we are going for a walk.” Now this was a walk that my dad and I have taken for years. We always took the same route through our neighborhood, the same route I would run. We would inevitably pass many friends along the way, he also would point out houses he had worked at, and sidewalks he had repaved (he worked concrete when he first came to America)We always walked together especially in the summer months. That was our time to talk about kids, politics, economics, gardening, Italy, work- you name it, we covered it. Sometimes we didn’t talk at all, it was just nice to have him near. That Friday in November, would be the last walk we would ever take together.
I started in the direction of the bike path, and my son started in the other, and when I called him, he said, “no mom, I want to go grandpas way”. I started to say “no, turn around” and then I stoped myself. As if guided by a force, I turned and started running our old neighborhood route. I kept my eyes focused on Michaels blond head bobbing up and down as he rode, I knew I had to make it through this run. With every step I took on this familiar route, a tear fell down my cheek. I hope one day I will look back on memories, such as our many, many walks and smile and be so grateful for the time we had together, and what an honor it was to be my fathers daughter, but for now, I wll have to settle for getting through one step at a time.
Thanks for letting me share
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