I have been feeling a bit more sensitive today and I did cry this morning when I read the eCard my Dad sent my sister and I. Even though he has a girlfriend now and is with her today and that seems so surreal to me, he knew just what to say.
And so I sit with Arlo next to me, the evening sun casting beautiful shadows across the backyard thick and smooth with fresh snow and I remember two years ago today. The light outside is quite like the light was that day. The stillness in this house is quite like the stillness of that day.
Two days ago I experienced what was as close to labor as I remember from Arlo's birth 26 months ago. Too early to have this baby, after some tests and great discussion, my midwives have put me on restricted activity for 3 weeks to deter preterm labor. It is hard to sit still.
In my efforts to rest this afternoon I have been on Facebook, Youtube, checked email, watched new episodes of this tv show and that one, and finished knitting Sam some socks. In my internet wanderings I watched this video of Kelly Corrigan reading an excerpt from her book "The Middle Place", sent to me in an email from a dear friend. I cried and cried by the end of the 5 minute video and just had to find her book. Our local library had no copies in print available to check out, but had an ePrint version I downloaded and "borrowed" on my computer. I read the first three chapters quickly and then sat down to write this.
The entire second chapter of her book is all about her Dad. After reading it and thinking about my Dad I wondered if I could write in such detail about him. I feel like I can't remember much about the way things were before my Mom's death or how my Dad was. However, in reading her writings I had a refreshed appreciation for my Dad, for his situation now.
In some ways her death has made me feel closer to my Dad and in other ways I feel more critical of him.
In our society, so much emphasis is placed on the mother as the nurturer, the bringer of life. And yet, in many families, in my family growing up, the father played an equally important role.
The Bush daughters wrote a very sweet letter to Obama's daughters and the last few sentences really resonated with me:
"Many people will think they know him, but they have no idea how he felt the day you were born, the pride he felt on your first day of school, or how much you both love being his daughters. So here is our most important piece of advice: remember who your dad really is."
So this afternoon as I sit and remember the passing of my mother, I am also thinking of my father, who is living and still very much a part of my life. He loved my mother very much and still does, despite new companions, routines or experiences. And he is still very much the father of my childhood. He carries that history which we share.
As Kelly Corrigan wrote, "He defined me first, as parents do. Those early characterizations can become the shimmering self-image we embrace...in my case, he sees me as I would like to be seen."
