November 11th is a day dedicated to remembering and honoring veterans, but for me, it’s my father’s birthday. He loved that he shared his birthday with veterans because his two older brothers who fought in WWII were his heroes.
My father loved double numbers. His birthday was 11/11/33. His death date is 4/22/22. I am comforted when I see a double digit number. There is no real explanation for this.
I am reading James Crews’ new poetry book, the Sacred Everyday: Poems of Peace & Stillness. His poetry is a balm for my soul. His Substack posts also resonate with me. He posted a poem about his father.
After My Father’s Death
I rose from my sleepless bed
with the words the worst thing
burning inside my mouth,
wondering how I would manage
to do the simplest tasks now—
turning the faucet, opening a door—
with this phantom limb feeling
of something essential missing
from my body. I never dreamed
that decades later, I would call this
impossible loss a gift, knowing
it was also still the worst thing
that ever happened to me. The wound
and the blessing braiding into
a gratitude that confuses and
comforts in the very same breath
each time I remember … (read the full poem here.)
“The wound and the blessing braiding into a gratitude…”
How do we find gratitude for loss? I don’t know. But the way to gratitude is through grief, remembering, and honoring those who created us. “For in him we live and move and have our being.” (Acts 17:28)
Our sacred everyday comes from a love that is eternal. I still love my father. I speak to him when I am walking. I speak to him while I am creating art. I live as though he’s still watching.
I do not want my father back. He would be an old curmudgeon by now. I carry him with me. I see him in my grandchildren. I hear his laughter. He once woke me up with a joke. Moments with him are rare and precious. He is where he needs to be.
The photo below was one we took together for a collaborative book, Illuminate. I wrote poetry to his Christmas card drawings in 2013.
