Musing

My Dad died two years ago. I don't seem to miss him much. Even though he and my mother stayed married together for over 50 years, and he was right there, he wasn't really. He was a "good" man, but I eventually understood that he was also a hurt puppy. To his dying day a little boy who would never be good enough or loved enough by his parents, or any body else. Scared of love, scared of rejection, keeping the ones at a distance who would love him most, and needed him to love us. Sucking up the superficial approval of ones who didn't really care, like customers, theater audiences, golf buddies, and yes, even girlfriends. He was loved, very much, and he loved us, and showed us in the ritualized ways that felt safe to him. I understand that. I was with him when he died. I can tell you the truth, when he left this life for whatever is next, he was carried by such a profound Love that I am awestruck to remember it. God, Jesus, Angels, whoever, I've never been in the presence of such love, except moments like now, when I am remembering. We are always surrounded by such love as that, and we can feel it when we let down our armor. Some of us have be dying to dissolve our defenses, maybe. What a shame that is. Happy Father's Day, Mark, CS, Maine

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