Things Change
I retold my Dad’s story today. It’s the first episode in Season 6 (AVAILABLE NOW!) And - you guys - Wow. I wasn’t expecting to feel like this. It’s heavy and uncomfortable and just so, so sad. Maria, that little angel that she is, held such a warm and empathetic space as I retold this traumatic and heartbreaking period of my life.
I started at the beginning. I tried to start slow and tell the story as it should be told. But man, the feelings just came rushing back. It was as if I was transported back in time. In to the chaos, the unsettled feeling of “what the hell is happening?” … the unknown of what was to come. I was back there. Watching my dad pace the house, feeling the need to shake him; to wake him up.
It’s funny how the memories morph and shift and change and yet, become part of us. They never leave. Some of the memories felt like magic - being sandwiched between my boys and my dad. Other memories felt like my heart was breaking all over again…
The art of story telling is so beautiful and so sacred. It allows space to grow, to heal and to understand situations so differently. Retelling my dads story left me feeling grateful, sad and missing him so much.
When I was prepping for my podcast, I felt such a warmth, but that warmth was surrounded by darkness. The bittersweet of this bumpy journey. I wanted to share my story eloquently, but my real goal (well, I had two)… was to honor my sweet dad AND to portray that with time, stories can change. New memories that we stuffed down can resurface and old memories can come to light. What a ride, you guys.
Taking myself back in time has left me feeling all the different emotions all at once. All over again. But you know what? It also brought my dad back. There are days where I feel like I'm moving farther and farther away from him. But today, man oh man, he sure did feel close.
As I recounted the turmoil and the pandemonium, I also recounted the beauty of taking care of someone who so gently took care of me. I remembered the little things about him that aren’t in the forefront of my mind. I remembered how I slept on his hand on the drive to kindergarten or how he would typically be found in a pair of Levis with no shirt. I remembered how he would cut up fruit for brokers opens and how he would call me daughter. I remembered the good and the bad. The ebbs and the flows.
What a gift to honor him in this way. What a gift to be his girl.
When things change, may we greet the newness softly and with open arms.
May we always, always accept the good.
xx,
R
