Yesterday was my father’s birthday. He would have been 60 years old. I needed to celebrate his life in some way positive, sort of similar to the 12 hour celebration of life we held in early September. John and I didn’t have a crazy party yesterday, but we did feed our souls with a love for each other and for life that we shared with my father in thought, in actions, and in spirit.
The sun was out for the first time in a few days, making the day very bearable weather-wise for me.
We’ve been working on a garden for a while, but the weather has set us back (not the fact that I’m working half of the time, resting half of the time). Yesterday, however, we decided it needed to be finished.
Those of you who have spent any amount of time with me know that I find hearts.
I find them…
In shadows, trees, clouds, blue sky between the clouds, rocks, drift wood, leaves, flowers, stains, puddles….
They are signs to me that I’m doing the right things.
That remind me how amazing life can be.
there is love in the world.
Signs that he’s still there…
Softly calling me his, “Little One,” always emphasizing the sound of the “t”.
We worked on our garden yesterday; our heart garden.
Digging it out, mixing soils, breaking apart the clay that lies underneath, laying down newspaper and rocks, and finding worms and critters that will help the mission were all small therapies in their own right.
Just before we felt as if we finished and were ready for a dedication ceremony, John scraped the surface one more time with the hoe.
A random rock was brought to the surface.
In the shape of a heart.
We looked at each other, and knew it was time.
John laid a juvenile eagle feather down by the heart and lit some sage. We sat in silence as he stoked the flame with a large eagle feather. Smoke wafted over the rock, the feather, the garden, and us.
I felt my father’s energy surge through my veins; his smile lifting me, his bright eyes engaging me…recognizing me.
I communed with him, smiling inwardly at the simple fact that he had been a part of my life and very much still is.
After John finished with the sage, I released a vial of my dear father’s ashes onto the rock.
Life. So fleeting. So short. So worth celebrating.
I loved that man.
I love that man.
He’s at peace in our hearts, and now, in our heart.
We piled the crumbled clay back over the rock, and continued filling in the garden with fertile and organic soil. Satisfied with our progress, there was one thing left to do with dad’s spirit present.
We smoked a birthday bowl for the man who gave me the strength to survive until this point.
Happy Birthday to the little man with the big open heart.
You are missed.
You are loved.
You are celebrated.