Tongue in Cheek

Jumping over Muddy Water

                           

The rice fields are flooded, the seeds are taken root, the harvest will come months later.... yet today the water stagnates; it is bittersweet. Life in its many moments, rich are the cycles, the seasons, the different stages...

Everything reminds us of my father...and he is no longer here....

Molly jumps the muddy overflow from the nearby rice field. Having little nieces and nephews around in this moment aids healing...they simply live, rejoice and beg us to do the same. Jump!

Yet jumping is not as easy as Molly makes me believe it is...life goes on....with each day moving us further away from my father's physical being and begs us to find him spiritually.

Jump. My heart is not stagnant, and my tears make everything muddy.

Thank You

                     

The tenderness that surrounds our hearts is healing. Soft and caring, full and rich. My family and I thank you. We are overwhelmed by our grief, yet your generous constant support cushions our sadness. Thank you for each and every word of sympathy, prayer uttered, thought of hope given. Thank you for every flower, fern, plant, and seeds of hope. Thank you for the plates of cookies, casseroles, side dishes of rich friendship and servings to feed an army of weakness. Thank you for the cards chosen and sent, the candles lite all over in churches near and far. Thank you for sharing your stories, your pain, your compassion, for leaving comments that have helped me and MANY others. Thank you for the CDs of music, books, sweets, and your full open hearts and virtual hugs. Thank  you for listening to me for three months, for holding my family up and telling me that my sharing was a healing ministry for you as well. Thank you for praying for my father; for keeping him in your thoughts. Thank you a million times over. Thank you for bearing witness to suffering and not running away from it. Thank you yesterday, today and tomorrow.

I hope that the tenderness that I have felt in your friendship, returns the blessing to you today.

Petal by Petal

                   

The days unfold, a tiredness slips into the empty space. The fragrant petals of yesterdays long gone soothe but cannot replace the thorn of sadness.

I knew that the day after and days to come would carve deep, and release the fullness stored...

but to such depth do the petals unfold?

Many layers, petal by petal as tears nourish the wounded heart.

My Father's Eulogy

Looking out I see many family and friends... It is such a healing gift to be surrounded by your love for my father. Thank you for coming and showing my family and me that my father holds a special place in your heart.

Your friendship allows us to know that my father will be nearby because of the memories stored within you. Please share them with us…never hold back, not now or in the years to come.

After 90 days at the hospital my mind’s eye and heart were full of my dad’s journey that he bear-ed with such grace.… My dad showed me courage, he showed me that he could endure much pain; he showed me dignity is his suffering.

My father’s death was beautiful… my family gathered around his bedside, prayed, saw him gaze lovingly into our eyes, knowing- trusting he was going to the heart of God, that his family on the other side was waiting for him with arms wide open.

It was a long and brave journey made whole.

I have struggled to find the right words, the right stories, the right note that would speak truly of my father...

But there are simply too many….. Family, faith, Ferndale, farming, fiesta, Westport,  motorcycles …..

Single words that hold a lifetime connecting you, my family... to my dad. He had a rich life… a giving life and life that I admired even to his last breath…

I only hope I can be so strong…that I can be as generous in my love as he was in his abundant love for life and family.

He was a man of faith, and the rosary was never far from his lips.

Our family is the way it is because of my father’s and mother’s faith, their faith in God. It is a legacy of love that cannot be taken even in death. It lends us grace and gives us courage.

My Mother and Father shared a special love story, one that was real, honest, and paved the way for us their children to follow: Before my father died my mother told him: That out of all the beautiful women she was luckiest because he choose her, and that she was so happy to be his wife, and the mother of his children.

Listening to my Mother in that moment sharing with my dad her love… oh how he beamed, his face lit up full of love before starting his journey home.

My mother’s love was sacred to him.

This is what I know to be true….

My father loved unconditionally, it didn’t matter what you did or didn’t do, and it didn’t matter if you where his color or how old you were…. it didn't matter what opinion you held, or if you rode a motorcycle or not….My dad loved and was loved. Who could ask for anything more? What a valuable gift I saw in my father’s attitude.

My brother Marty said, “That dad stopped aging at 60 or maybe 40….he simply did not grow old.” Life was something he enjoyed. And he lived it everyday to the fullest, in style and young at heart.

Every child should have a Father who shows them what love is all about. I could tell you over 81 reasons in a blink of an eye, why my Dad was a gem. How he was a generous man, how he would give you the shirt off his back, his wrangler jeans, boots and helmet too....even if he was standing, stranded outside, in a snowstorm, and you had a snowsuit on. He was loving down to the bare bone.

Every child should have a Father who tells them that the world is a beautiful place, and that they are worthy of it..

Oh Dad how you were so strong, so beautiful so extra cool!

We will see you Dad, yes we will see you in the rice fields as they flood and take root. We will see you in the eyes of your grandchildren and in all those that loved you. We will hear you in the memories that are stored in our hearts and that will be told and retold and remain vibrate for eternity.  We will hear you with each Ninety, Harley, Honda and skid of the bicycle wheel. We will hear you when we turn on the radio and see Mom grabbing one of the grandchildren to teach them to jitterbug in the kitchen.  Oh yes Dad you are here I see you in the eyes of those gathered here, of the many familiar faces, I see you greeting them with your sideways smile and easy laugh.

We will see you as the seasons turn, unfold and render… We have an abundant harvest in your love and you will be missed…

The Rosary

                        

Last night we entered the church early and sat up front. The community came later and sat behind us. The feeling to sit in a large church, silently with others is one that creates my heart to feel connected to something beyond.

Though last night as my family and I sat upfront, I did not know who or if anyone was behind us. It was that quiet, that peaceful, a silent night....

When the priest started to say the rosary the response from behind was incredible. Like a tidal wave of love pouring over us, flooding our hearts, washing us of our sorrow, holding us up...

The beauty of living in a small town and witnessing the lives of many interconnected.

Last night I felt joy! I felt the love my father and mother have planted with years of devotion to their faith, their family, friends and community.

Thank you also blogging community for your tremendous support...

I will read the eulogy today. I have gathered courage and a big splash of support from your holding me up these last few months.

I am doubly lucky and it feels so good.

Let the Spirit Move You

                        

1. French Husband arrived for my father's funeral and will stay a few days.

2. School, the distance, and timing do not permit Chelsea and Sacha to come; Though they arrive in early June.

2A. I am trying not to think that French husband and I are in California while our children are clear across the world....

3. The amount of incredible food that keeps coming into my mother's home makes the scale tip higher and higher. Who has willpower at a time like this?

4. Holding emotion in is exhausting.

5. Funerals are exhausting too.

6. The eulogy...or I should say the blank piece of paper starring me in the face is haunting. Where do I begin? Each time I try to put something down on paper I see my father in the dark hospital room and his gallant desire to live... and I hear myself telling him to let go- Three months of bearing witness to my father's heroic effort and his dying days has my heart far too sad to create a worthy eulogy.

7. My sister in laws are the best beyond helpful and supportive.

8. Having little children around is natural healing medicine.

9. My mother... my brothers keep my father ever on their lips. Story after story.

10. I must focus on the eulogy.... please, please, please give me the words to share and the courage to speak without turning into a puddle. Where does one begin?

Blue Skies

Blue skies partly cloudy,

A dream like state called reality,

Rainstorms in the middle of nowhere or-

Tears mixed with laughter... as each person recalls and relives memories of my father. I feel him in their stories and see him in their eyes. He lives in their hearts. Oh memories!

A sacred time before the wake...flowers, food, friends, feasting on family.

The normal everyday question, "How are you?"

I am here...blue skies, partly cloudy, big chance of rain.

Swing High

A steady stream of family and friends pour in giving us their hearts to float on...

We pass through these days with memories of my father coming to the surface, we hold each like a treasure from the bottom of the sea, a ripple of joy extends, it is healing.

My five year old niece Molly was on the swing set in the back yard, swinging back and forth giggly cute. Suddenly she looks at me seriously, drags her feet bringing the swing to a stand still... She jumps off, comes up to me and says, "Aunt Coco are you sad that Vo died?" I responded that I was very sad. With that she says, "I think you need a hug."

Her hug was like a sweet life jacket in these days of swelling emotion.