Quiet in His Love

Today, my dad would have been 68.5 years old. I have so many dates in my memory bank that it gets a bit crowded in there at times. We are not into celebrating half birthdays at our house, but it strikes me that maybe we should be. Maybe a half birthday is a chance to say, "I love you because..." Or, perhaps, to say, "I'm so glad I've had another six months with you. I'm looking forward to the next six." I think you get the idea. Couldn't we make half birthdays an opportunity to show love and appreciation to the "birthday" person? Not the hubbub of a birthday, but the sweet words and thoughts of genuine affection and appreciation. Perhaps, some of you do this very thing everyday already for your loved one or dear friend. However, if you don't take time to invest words of love and appreciation and joy regularly, maybe this idea is one worth considering. No, I'm not trying to add more pressure or another to-do to your ever-growing list

Today marks four months since my dad's death. Those words I wish I didn't need to write. He has been, I imagine, enjoying himself quite a bit these last four months (or however long it's been for him). I have not been enjoying myself. These last four months, and the month before them, have been nothing short of an intense emotional struggle. To some it may appear that I am wholly well and thriving. That is a deception - a facade of sorts. Not by my choice, but because it can be difficult for those on the outside of a situation to fully (or even partially) understand, feel, know what is happening. It is even harder to know how to help, what to say, what to do. For many, it is easier to look on and not engage with those that are hurting, walking a road no one really wants to walk. I have been that person. The one that stays silent or doesn't act on the prompting of the spirit and reach out. I don't want to make the pain worse or cause a rift or overstep or... Or what?