Antique angel motif buckles, I kid you not. They were pretty cool, I regret I didn't buy at least one of them.
I have noticed in these last few weeks after my father's death, that I feel my father is right beside me. I find myself talking to him, seeing with him, believing that he is living within me... in my heart, or cells or imagination...most likely all three all at once, do you know what I mean? Have you or did you ever feel like this about someone who you have loved who has died?
A few weeks ago an American flag folded tightly into the shape of tri-angle was handed to my mother in honor of my father at his grave-site. Later we were told that if we donated his flag to the American Legion, it would fly on Memorial Day with the other flags of those who served our country.
Before giving back the American Flag we were told to write (on the band that attaches the flag to the pole,) my father's name, where and how he served, and in what war.
Over 350 flags are flying today in our small town. One of them says: George Amaro WWII... Navy.
--------------------- One of my favorite memories of my father's is when he talked about the first night at base camp:
"The first night in the bunk hall, young men from every part of the Untied States gathered for bed. Most of them farm boys, barely eighteen-years old, and who had never been passed the city limits of their own towns. I was one of them. Like those other boys, I was proud to be there and scared too.
In the dark of the night the sounds of homesickness started to rumble. Within a few minutes every guy there was bawling. We knew the road ahead of us and the country road behind. We were just young boys who had never left home sharing the same feelings..."
Dreaming dandelions, wow what fantastic links! But I have to admit fried dandelions is something I'll have to think twice about. To name a few that I loved-- the image links to dandelions, the line of baby clothes, Rolling Stones lyrics and clip, Sheeley's cards and Duchess the poem from Walt.
Reflections, one after another. Connecting one moment of time to the present. A song comes on the radio and the words transform here to then- I am a little girl out in my dad's barn and suddenly I see him standing before me...
The song continues to play, while the words carry me back, I am standing there for a split second and death cannot steal the memory that feels so real....
Grief has it own map, and it takes time to walk along the unknown path it puts before you. Walking, running, or standing still... the view remains the same, the rhythm beats on. I feel its strangeness, the sudden urge to run or cry or wrap myself up a blanket and hide. But grief does not let you go, no it might change its song and dance routine but it plays on. The pain is either embraced, or it embraces you without you knowing it gets under your skin.
It does not matter if the person you loved died young, old, after a long illness, or suddenly, or if you got to say goodbye...death sting and mourning has a song all its own.
As the floodgate open swirling memories around me, my heart hears a sad song...and dares not move-
Each step forward is one further away from the moment of when my father was alive. It is a new world and the song has me somewhat off balance. So I whisper to the new day,
°Twenty five years living in France because I married a Frenchman, that I met while dancing in San Francisco° Two children, now in their twenties, amour et joie° I have the "Brocante Bug" which means antiquing is my cure, France can do me no wrong when it comes to treatment ° I'm related to half the population in Willows, California ° Likes to travel on a moments notice. ° Writes whatever strikes a cord, and has taken photos for this blog everyday for the last several years° Merci for following me°