I like to pretend that I have no fear, that I am fearless at all times.
That I am not touched by the worries of the world, and that I live in harmony with the things that happen in my days.
I strive to find peace and calm, balance and harmony, even on the days that life throws curveballs, baseballs and snowballs at me.
I have worked hard to find that balance, that inner being, that allows me to be that person each morning when the sun comes up.
But lately I have been hiding.
Hiding from one of my great passions – writing.
It may have appeared that I was just stepping back from blogging, from writing and reaching out to others. The truth is I have not written in the last sic weeks for one reason, and one reason only.
I am afraid.
I am afraid of what is going to happen when I post my next blog post – well, in reality I am afraid of what is NOT going to happen.
There will be no email from my Dad.
My Dad, a man of incredible intelligence, patience, kindness and generosity, passed away seven weeks ago after 2 1/2 years on hospice. We were all there as a family, together, when he slipped quietly away from us. It was exactly how it was supposed to be, on his terms, in his own home.
After every post, my Dad would send me an email. He always read what I wrote, and thanked me, honored my passion and compassion, cheered me on, and made me feel as if I made a difference.
When I hit publish, and this post goes live, I will not hear from him.
And it’s breaking my heart.
I know he would be disappointed that I am not writing, not reaching to others, not letting others in. He told me with each response to my posts that I engaged with people in a true sense, in a way that was honest and open, and that it allowed people to understand that hard things happen in life, but life is meant to be lived, not hidden away. Being part of things, part of SOMETHING, is what makes life grand.
He isn’t here to tell me that anymore, and I have been dreading this day.
I have been writing in my head, just not pushing that final send button.
I know he would never have wanted me to stop writing. He would have wanted me to continue to reach out, to engage with people and let them walk alongside my journey through life so that others can see that it is possible to have great joy in the midst of sadness.
So tonight, as I sit in my hotel room in Florida, embarking on an amazing adventure tomorrow, I pledge to continue on. I know tomorrow will hurt. My Dad will not send an email response to my post.
But I know that he is with me.
He will always be with me.
Death did not take him away, it brought him closer to my heart.