Not Being There

Not Being There Hair: D!va, Daisy **Gacha Event** .

For my fathers funeral this Saturday we are allowed to say or write about an event in rememberance of him. My sister has thought of some really fun events in our life, but for the first time ever, the writer is mute. No Word and Peace, Draakje Dailey. In fact, I can’t think of a single remarkable event and I can’t figure out why. I reckon it’s likened to those times you think of something witty to say, after a person has walked away from you. But in the middle of the night, I did decide what I would write for the Reverend to read. And it’s right there in the title, I am going to write about his not being there. That is the greatest lesson my father taught me.

Not Being There Dress: Snowpaws, Epais **Peace on Earth 6, item#036** .

You see, my father was a pediatrician. On Christmas mornings me, my sisters and my bother (yes, meant to spell it that way), weren’t allowed to peek to see if Santa had stopped by until my father was standing next to the tree taking pictures. Seems a practical matter, doesn’t it? But most Christmas mornings my father was at the hospital, so we would sit anxiously on the bottom step, waiting for my father to return home. Most children don’t really have a sense of real world focus, we tend to think about the world’s reflection of us, not about how we are seen in the world, or in other words, we oft believe the world revolves around our needs, not taking into consideration others. One Christmas, I think I was about six or so, it was an extra long wait stretching almost into the afternoon. Being selfish, and petulant at that age, I asked my mom why dad always had to go to the hospital on Christmas day. Hugging me close, she told me “Because sickness doesn’t take a holiday. And some children don’t get to wait on the bottom step of their home to see if Santa visited them.” I think I aged to adulthood that day, or at least got pretty close to it because I never looked at Christmas the same again.

The take from? Sometimes the best gift a parent can give a child is to not be there. It not only makes the parent a human, it teaches the child, though you love them dearly, no one can possibly be there for them every time they are needed. As for my dad? I can’t help but think he is in heaven surrounded with some of the children he has seen over the years. Some probably made it home for Christmas, perhaps some did not and as they laugh and celebrate this holiday, I hope he will look down fondly at me. as I sit patiently on the bottom step waiting for when I will see him again.

33 thoughts on “Not Being There

  1. You brought tears to my eyes as I read this. I think adults have similar needs, to think that the world revolves around self. I don’t think that growing up makes that happen. I think it just has to stir in each of us (or not). You speak with a deeply set wisdom in the moment, and yet I know you must feel grief just as deeply. My heart goes with you. And yes, we all have to sit on that bottom stair for someone in our life. I’m glad sitting reminds you of positive things you can cling to and not things that make you and others sad. I believe the Reverend has a story to share in this element and likely one he will repeat often in his own sermons and preparations for others in similar settings. You and I have no idea how far words and heart ripple across the universe. Not yet, anyway. ❤

  2. I am sorry for your loss. Reading your words, I can only hope there is an afterlife and your father hears them. I think the most important lessons we learn from our parents are the ones that they are not trying to teach, but the ones that we get from things happening in their lives when they are doing what they have to do. Not being there those Christmas mornings meant that he was being there for the children that needed him most.

  3. Very powerful message you’re imparting. I admire your strength and perseverance during this time and that is a wonderful gift in itself.

    Hugs,
    Alexa

  4. I have no doubt that you will find those memories in time Cao, the moment might not be now when you must but when you least expect it. Your father was selfless on Christmas and must have believed that you were strong enough to understand that. There will be much emotion with this reading at your fathers funeral and it will be all you can do just to hold it together. My wish for you is that you have peace within yourself during this extremely difficult time and know that the people that love you here are thinking of you at all times. Blessed be beautiful girl ❤

  5. This was beautiful. I am so, so sorry to hear of your loss…it’s one I know all too well myself. But in the way you have honored your father here, it shows how you loved and adored him. I’m sure he is smiling down on you with pride in his eyes! As always Caoimhe, you bring such passion into what you write and say from your heart. You’re in my thoughts and prayers, friend. 🙂

  6. I’m sorry for your loss Cao. From the title and first paragraph, I thought you were going in a completely different direction with this. It’s a rare point of view, to consider ‘not being there’ in a positive light, but it’s a good way to look at it. Thanks for illuminating the other side of that condition for me.

  7. I have never told you, because I avoid situations where I need to speak from the heart, but I’m so sorry for your loss and I just want to tell you that you are one of the few people that I have the greatest admiration for, a true icon. ♥ ♥

  8. So sorry to hear the sad news about your dad. I realise that the day of the funeral will be hard but I also know that the love and the memories shared on the day will pull you through….hugsss

    1. Someone else told me that same thing Moco about how long the day will be. I am kind of dreading it honestly, I prefer to grieve for my father alone. But I suppose a funeral is a celebration of sorts, so I will be do my best. ❤

  9. Little one…

    I imagine your father saw his children in the eyes of each sick child he tended to on Christmas morning. I am equally sure the love he saw in the eyes of his precious little ones gave him the strength to walk out the door…to make a difference in the life of another child; who was too ill to be home on that day.

    You embody his beautiful spirit…he saw this…and there is no greater gift for a father who longs to be at home with his loved ones on Christmas morning.

    Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam ❤ ❤

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