...and STILL a Work in Progress.
It recently occurred to me to have a chat with my son.
Concerning the importance of being a Giver, not always a Taker. Now mind you, I don't mean a Giver of "things", or a Taker of "things". I was speaking of the giving of emotions, feelings, hugs, kisses, and kind words. In short, being a Giver of small pieces of yourself.
Uh-oh. Suddenly, I was re-thinking that particular chat.
You see, I was raised by a man who built a wall around himself, constructed bit by bit over many years. Built by the blood, sweat and tears of failed dreams and broken hearts. His was a story so complicated, it would make a therapist run screaming into the night.
The kicker? I AM my father's daughter. The wall I myself built has yet to be completely dismantled. Thanks to the love of a wonderful (and very patient) man, I slowly realized that something had to be done. About that wall. I'm working on it. Why, just this morning, I gave him a hug. For no reason at all.
I understand the need to impart this particular bit of wisdom to my children. But maybe I need to fix myself first. In the meantime, I'll be sure and hug them every time I see them.
And, about my father. The last time I saw him, we were alone together. I was giving my mother a break from caring for him in his last days on this earth. As I was just about to finish up giving him a sponge bath, I impulsively reached for his hand. I looked him in the eye and told him I loved him. I was scared, so scared. You see, he had never told me he loved me.
He squeezed my hand, looked at me, and repeated my words back to me. He then let go of my hand, and loudly announced that he was "hungry, damnit!". I made him some lunch, served it to him, neither one of us able to look each other in the eye. As uncomfortable as it was, it was so worth it. AND it was my last chance. I never saw him alive again.
As I said. I'm a work in progress. Aren't we all, really?
Putting random thoughts on "paper". Scary. But at least they're not running amok in my head anymore. Promise.
backing in. slowly.
and oh so very carefully.
Come on in. Relax. Put your feet up.
Wine? Coffee? Tequila?
4 comments:
Sometimes the hardest people to show your true feelings to are the ones you should be the closest to. Glad you had that moment with your dad as awkward as it was. You both said what you needed to say. I think that I take for granted that my family just "knows" how much I love them, and like you, it is something that I have to work on. :)
Ok I am going to try again. I love your story about your dad. From what I have been told he was a good man. It took my dad having a massive stroke to say the words I love you, I am saddened by the stroke but greatful we can say that to each other now. Sure makes you want to be different with the ones you love doesn't it.
Almost 15 years now, Kathie. I still cannot think about Dad without misting up. Yes, he was very complicated and not much of a family man, but I too loved him and was very glad I wrote and told him so when he was sick. I've always felt he was the most victimized by his attitudes. But, he sure gave us a lot to laugh about!!
I really need to check in here more often, huh?
Thanks, Geri and Mona.
Chris...'nuff said bb. luv you.
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