I asked God for a sign......

A year ago today would be the last time my Dad and I took a car ride together.

A year ago today, I picked my Dad up at 5 am to take him to the Cleveland Clinic for additional testing on his heart with the hope of preparing him for surgery to relieve the pressure in his head caused by AIDS dementia.  (I bloody hate both of those words....)

A year ago today, unbeknownst to me me, time was closing in, and to be honest I really struggled all day today.

So, tonight in order to clear my head, I decided to take Fenna on a walk downtown.  On the walk, I was crying and praying, and I said aloud:  "God, I need a sign.  Lord, I want the sign to be so obvious that there is no doubt.  I need to know my dad made it to Heaven, and that he's okay.  I would give anything to see him just one more time....."

As Fenna and I approached the Hotel Gallery downtown, I noticed it was "Open Mic" night.  I paused at the doorway for a bit to listen to a few artists perform, Fenna made herself comfortable at my feet, and we stood there on the stoop, watching the entertainment take place inside.  As I was getting ready to leave, I made eye contact with the owner, gave her a friendly wave and she motioned me to come inside.  I motioned there was a dog at my feet, yet she shrugged her shoulders and waved me in even harder.  Fenna and I quickly made our way into the Gallery, quickly sat at a table in the back, and were watching the artists perform, when I looked up and there was my Dad!

And I don't mean this man looked a little like my dad, I mean, I legitimately could not tell the difference between that man and my father.  It was as if, I was watching my dad on stage perform right before my very eyes.  As I sat there astonished, watching this man sing and play the guitar, it was as if the world stopped moving, and God gave me back my Dad for just a short while.  I left before the gentleman sang his last song, mainly because I didn't want it to ever end.  I couldn't bare to say goodbye, it would have felt like I was loosing my Dad all over again.

I hear this band will be back next week to play during "Open Mic" again.
Perhaps I will go back.
Who knows, perhaps I will become a "groupie"?!

To God and my Dad, I see what you two did here tonight.
Well played boys.
Well played...  

On grief and bravery....

Life is hard.

It's unpredictable.

In fact the only thing predictable about life is it's unpredictability. 

I miss my father so much, that sometimes the depth of my sadness makes it hard for me to breathe.

And pick up a pen to write? 
Forget it.

It's as if my creativity died with my dad.  

I have things that want to come out. 

I have thoughts that I want to write about, but the words are stuck in some weird grief purgatory.

It's as if there is a disconnect between my mind and the outside world.

The loss I have experienced is in every corner of my life.  It's in the corner of the living room where we would sit on the couch and watch Hallmark movies.  Or where he excitedly opened his Christmas presents on Christmas day.  

It's in every phone call I still make, forgetting he will never answer my calls again.  

It's in my car where he and I logged a millenary of hours driving to and from our nightly dinners and The Cleveland Clinic.  Confession time:  His pajamas are still folded on the backseat and his half eaten package of Hall's cough drops are still in the dash compartment.  At this point I'm fairly sure I will eventually sell the car with his pajamas right where he left them, because I can't wrap my head around removing them from the backseat... 

The loss is in my wife's eyes as she says to me:  "I don't know what it's like to be married to you.  We have yet to have a normal life." 

The truth is death is painful and walking through the grief requires a colossal amount of bravery.  A bravery I'm not always sure I possess.  As the waves of life throw me about, from side to side, I know the only way through this grief is to allow myself to feel it.  I can't ward it off.  I can't rid myself of it.  I can only turn inward to reflect, honor my heart's request for quietness, and remember the only way to emerge into the light of a new day is to experience the previously dark night.