Communicating With Memories & Qualities

"Memory is the treasury and guardian of all things."--Cicero

"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind."--William Shakespeare

   Today, I remember my Dad, who would've turned 65 today. Despite this number, I have come to think of him as ageless. The qualities of who this man was when he was physically with us, as well as the qualities that remain in the memories of those who knew him then, are unchanged. I have taken great comfort in the fact that who we are--our spirits, ideas of who we are, etc.--cannot die. The most important aspect of humanity is not our flesh and bones; rather, it is the effects we have had on others around us, our qualities, the lasting legacies of Love.

   I cannot deny that I went through (and still sometimes go through) periods of grieving, anger, and frustration for the physical man that was my Dad who I can no longer reach out and hug, or pick up a phone and call, or get in a car and go visit. I have had to work very hard to understand the transformation of who my Dad really is and how to hold him close in different ways than the physically obvious. It has been a journey that started back on March 8, 2008: the day he passed away. Now, on August 8th, 2011, I have reached new understanding about how to deal with the loss I experienced over three years ago. It is my hope that this writing will resonate with others and help them through their own grieving processes.

   The ways in which I continue to communicate with my Dad's memories and qualities vary: some days I'll hear a song on the radio that he used to sing to me when I was a little girl, or I'll hear songs from artists that he really enjoyed. Those instances tend to make me feel closer to him and that he's come for a "visit" of sorts. It happens frequently enough, that I feel comforted on a relatively regular basis. :-)

   I also enjoy visiting places that my Dad used to take my younger brother and I as children (the beach), visiting the local town he used to live in (and that hold other childhood memories for me), doing some of the activities he enjoyed (walking in the park), visiting some of the restaurants he liked, and eating some of the foods he enjoyed (BBQ).

   It goes without saying that I'll also look at photos of my Dad, read old letters and cards he gave me, and even listen to some old recordings I have of his voice that we made many years ago (and some from my old answering machine)--which reminds me that I want to transfer those to the computer someday. All of these physical methodologies are nice; however, they tend to leave me feeling like I want more. Like what I have left is not enough. This has led me to the most important way in which I remember my Dad...

   I think about who he was in his life and who he continues to be for me in my life (e.g. a source of humor, courage, inspiration to work hard and persevere, etc.) and I try to live that everyday. As much as I feel that it would be wonderful to see, talk with, and hug him again, I know that I have something even greater than that now: ideas and qualities of a Dad who cannot die. Nothing can destroy or take away the Love that exists from him and for him. As difficult as it can be to accept that all material and physical elements of people and things may disappear, what truly matters (who we are and the qualities that all things represent) always remains unchanged. This perspective has been the ultimate source of comfort and salvation for me during the grieving process, and I am grateful that I understand it and can share it with others now.

   I know my Dad is always with me and that is enough. I love you, Dad, and I honor you today and everyday.