Sunday, April 16, 2017
My father had that ability to immerse himself in the moment, perhaps more so than anyone I've known. Whether he was enjoying his favorite Paciugo gelato - black cherry - while sitting in the car on a hot July day, or slamming any door in the house if the Tar Heels lost a basketball game, or tearing up listening to a beautiful aria; he totally embraced all that defined or surrounded moments in time. (One was during WWII, in Paris, sitting on the curb eating a treat of canned (maybe stolen) peaches.)
It seems for most of his life, as if he didn't fear but yet was guided, unaware, that any moment could be his last.
This was heavy on my mind this Easter Sunday as I celebrated with family and friends. I so wanted to emulate my father but yet, my heart still grieves. I pretend to be in the moment but I'm still very much aware of the me who watches me.
Throughout the afternoon I proposed toasts: clink clink clink! I absorbed and enjoyed the music in the cafe. I ate well. Life seemed good. And when my nephew complimented my earrings, knowing in a glance they must have been a gift from Kevin, I teared up. Just like Daddy would have done.
Maybe tears continue to be good.
I came away from the bustle of the bistro knowing that I am still healing. Still healing by willing to be there, willing to risk the pain of a memory, be it by a bite of anything, a song, or a toast: clink, clink, clink!
Whether it is me, or it is the me who watches me, we are together trying so hard to live in the moments.