Remembering Our Fathers

It seems I have been searching my whole life for answers. In between living life; raising 3 children, working, making jam, playing my guitar, reading, and everything else, I have been aching in my heart for something, even though I really didn't know what that something might be. I explored different religions to in a way, try them on and see if they fit. None ever did. I was raised a Catholic, receiving Baptism, Communion, and even Confirmation, and still, that religion felt too tight around the neck.

I am in my mid-fifties now, my children are grown, and I have the time to reflect that I never had before. It could be because I do not have any grandchildren yet, or, it could be because I am getting closer to the finish line, my finish line. On the other hand, it could be that I am in reflection mode now just as I have always been, only now am I mature enough to understand my feelings. I would like to think it is the latter.

For me, it seems when I have drifted away from The Father, I felt lost. I was going through the motions, doing what I needed to do, still I knew that something was missing. I learned to preoccupy my mind and to rationalize that not thinking about it was good enough, that my life was moving along, with the pain deep enough, and that if I just stayed busy, everything would work out. This was all done unconsciously of course.

For years, I have been searching for a church, a place in my mind where people who are like-minded, who want to better their lives, and who believe in a higher purpose of serving someone other than themselves, go, to hang out together. I believe I found this church three weeks ago. I knew I felt "home" when tears started rolling down my cheeks for no apparent reason other than feeling so moved to be there. The only way I can describe it is that it felt like home.

I also cry every time I think of Jesus, on that cross, and how he died for us. I am crying now as I type these words.

Today is my father's birthday. If he had stuck it out, he would have been 80 years old today. My family and I would have most likely gathered around him and celebrated with the usual cake and gifts. Instead, my mother and I will be going to his place of burial and we will most likely say a prayer that he is in a better place and with God.

Today I will also be going to church to see what else I can learn. I already know where the answers are, and where I feel safe to explore this unknown territory that is there just waiting for me. I will be honoring those who gave me life; The Father of souls, who is all-knowing, as well as my father, who was on the search, just as I am, just as we all are. I want to believe that my father and I have come to a place of peace and understanding, even if my experience is just for a moment. I will take that moment and savor it.

Today is about my father and remembering who he was, and my Father, who has helped me to remember who I am. Either way, I am home.

To Barbara - Happy Birth Day

Two weeks ago, my children's grandmother passed away. Her name was Barbara (even though I know firsthand that there was a short period in her life when she went by her middle name Laurel). She was a lovely woman in every way and her loss is surely felt by Pat, her husband of over 50 years, her son, and her grandchildren.

Greg, my children's father (and my ex), was born to Barbara and Pat in San Diego and grew up on Bernardo Street in Sunnyvale.

Today, our daughter Wallie, who currently lives in San Diego, is visiting with her grandfather and father in San Luis Obispo. She is there to offer her support and to help remember and celebrate her grandmother's life.

I on the other hand went to another Barbara's 90th birthday party today. The party was given by her daughter who lives right off of Bernardo Street in Sunnyvale. Many people came to offer their support, create a memory, and to celebrate her life.

The twists and turns never stop. They are in our lives daily if we just pay attention. They sometimes feel like reminders, sort of like a little tap on the shoulder, only when we turn to look, no one is there, or so we think.