Just Dreaming….
There are days when I wake, when I rise from the bed and think to myself that “today will be the day”. The frightening part of it all is that I’m not always sure what that’s supposed to be. Inside, where I thought I grew from, where I believed the inspiration for my creativity is born, I am sometimes left with the feeling that I am empty. That perhaps I have become so emotionally wounded and bankrupt that that very same creative reservoir may have finally evaporated and left me alone. All by myself.
This is the month, July, that I am reminded of the death of my son. As much as I want to proclaim that I am healed from that awareness of pain, from the very depths of that emotional torture, I at times, question just how far I have truly grown.
The fact is, I miss what could have been. I miss the potential. I miss his little hands in mine. I miss what should have been. In my heart, I know that there is nothing that I could have done. In my heart, I know that his passing was something beyond my control. In my heart, I know that he’s with God. In my heart, I ache. In my heart, I still shed tears for all of the moments that I squandered. In my heart, in the truth of who I am, I cannot talk to anyone about the very real longing to have those missed moments back.
I know that I can’t go back. Yes, I know this. I do. I really do. But tonight, at this moment, as I struggle with the idea that crying is okay, I am still left with the longing for a son that I can never apologize to for not being the best father that I could have been. Whatever anger I hold, it’s for and to a man that was caught up in his own path. A path that was inconvenienced by the needs of a little person that relied on his father.
So as I write this, with that dry, achy throat that signifies once again my ability to withhold my tears, that reminds me of just how “tough” I am, I am yet reminded of the frailty of life.
Embrace those whom you love. Take them in your arms. Smile today. Take their hand and just touch them. Just feel their gentleness. Relish the love that they so easily give you. Revel in their innocence. Look upon them today, right now and see the childhood as the blessing that it is. God, wrap them in your arms for just thirty seconds and feel them. Let them feel you. Whether mother or father, celebrate the love of life that they possess and share it. Share it with all you are.
Today, if only for a moment, cling to the reality of the love that is their every breath….
Love them today, with everything that gives you life.
Today, we have them and we’re not, just dreaming….
How does one explain…
You know, I have been called a fool before. Not once or twice, but many times. And sometimes it was well deserved. Other times, I had to step back and evaluate as to whether or not I really agreed with the assessment. In this particular case, fool or not, I want to set the record straight, so to speak.
This particular conversation had to do with my “ideas” about love and world around me. He wondered how I could be stuck with some antiquated notions about love, the role of marriage and the nature, the true nature, that I believed is love. My friend questioned my patriotism, my sanity and my right to “think such odd” things. I could well appreciate some of his confusion regarding my ideas about love (which is fodder for another time), but my patriotism? Here then, are my answers (I shall attend to the specific question later in this post).
I am well aware of the war/conflict/skirmish/misunderstanding/police-action taking place in IRAQ. Woefully aware in fact. But rather than argue about policy, to which I have no say or control, I choose to focus on the men and women, whether they wear the uniform or not, that are deeply affected by said actions in IRAQ, namely; mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives, sons and daughters, friends and lovers that remain here, left behind if you will. You see, I have CHOSEN to focus on the love that exists. No, my head is not in the sand, nor do I want to engage in a political debate as to whether the war is right or wrong, instead, I have CHOSEN to focus on the beauty.
There is beauty in the letters written home. There is beauty in the sight of a mother raising the flag on Sunday morning because this is a way that she can support her son. There is beauty in every angry father over the loss of his daughter in a war that he never wanted her in – because the beauty resides in his love for his child. Our love transcends politics. Our love rises above votes or rhetoric. There is beauty in every tear that a wife sheds for her fallen husband. In every table setting for a wife that will not return.
There is beauty because there is love.
Yes, I am aware of the pain that comes in the loss of our loved ones. Yes, I know about the pain of the fear at a possible loss, the not knowing if or when it will happen. Yes, I know all too well the depths of hell that one can descend to at the loss of a child. And oh how I know the darkness that can swallow one when one is consumed by hatred and anger over matters that we seemed to have had no control over. So, my sanity is called into question because I say that there is beauty in the loss of a child? But that is not what I said…
There is beauty because there is love.
What we do with that love is an entirely different matter.
(The matter that caused all of this debate was over something rather simple. My “friend” could not understand how I could be so understanding of a God that would allow my infant son to die or allow wars to continue…)
There is beauty because there is love….
And we love because it’s beautiful…