Thursday, June 27, 2013

My dad read my blog once.

Sometimes dementia feels fake. Like there's no way this is my real life. My mind can't wrap itself around the disease, the loss, the ugliness; so, it blocks it out. Like a bad dream. Then reality pinches me awake and keeps on pinching over and over and over until my heart recognizes those quakes of sadness contained within its walls.

There are days where I can acknowledge the quakes and they subside for a time. There are days where I can hardly contain my emotions -sad, happy, angry, hopeful, desperate all in a moment's time. Then, there are days where the longing for dad is deep-seated and excruciatingly hungry -these are the hardest of days.

It's not just his physical presence I long for... Though I believe it would feel so comforting. I long for the smell of concrete and aftershave on him after spending all day out in the field -a smell that takes me right back to a childhood full of eagerly awaiting his arrival home from work. I long for his stern fatherly ways -memories come flooding from the turbulently hormonal years of middle and high school that shaped the wife and (one day) mom I am. I long for the dry, unpredictable humor that made him so easy to be around and hard to ignore.

My dad read my blog once. After his diagnosis, before his decline. After our family's heart broke into a trillion little pieces, before God began the slow and painful healing process.


The affection in his words is palpable and makes my heart squeeze a little tighter. Knowing he sat, he read, he comprehended my words at one time is near foreign to me. But, in that single paragraph, he's revealed his life. God, wife, discipleship to his kids -and we weren't easy kids to lead!

How I wish he could see the things we're all doing now. I wish he could read my words, could see Scooter's passion for politics and planning, could enjoy the sweetness of Mel's boys, witness his baby boy's athletic prowess and dry humor, and enjoy Denmark with his eldest and her three kids. He'd be so impressed with us and he'd for surely know how well he did in discipleship.

Though my heart longs for the comforts found in him, I see him here, there, and most everywhere. And I'm reminded that his family was his greatest investment: lucky for us.

Now time to go grab a "fancy" Rubio's burrito for lunch just to enjoy a moment with his memories.

I'm encourage and challenged by Phillipians 4:12:
"I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. 
I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry,
whether living in plenty or in want." 
Obviously, I didn't write this. If I did I'd be lying. 
Though God's giving me a better idea of that secret of being content in any and every situation
Damn it, I never thought I'd have to learn the really hard way

3 comments:

  1. My mom said something really interesting to me a couple months ago when I told her I always feel like the worst things happen to the best people...she responded with, "Stefanie, that's actually not true. (I was perplexed..uhh it's definitely true mom!) It's just that when bad things happen to bad people, you tend not to notice because the best people are shining so brightly." You are one of those bright stars for sure. Love you Miss Amber <3

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  2. Wow Stefanie has put it so perfectly, I have nothing left to say. Love you too Miss Amber x

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  3. Wow wow wow. So heartbreaking. And you were being consoling to ME yesterday. Sister, you definitely are one of those bright people. I praise God for you.

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