Have you noticed just how astounding a horizon is? It’s a spot in the distance that you set your sights on. It gives you hope and as you witness it, stare at it, you’re filled with a feeling of peace, contentment and awe.
It’s beautiful, celestial, amazing, awesome and new. It’s a distant point where heaven and earth meet. It’s a miracle, really. And with any miracle, you exhale and joy begins its precarious journey inside you, slowly and smoothly…just like the light of a horizon — up and over the sky.
It can make you weep with relief. I see it, you say to yourself and it’s attainable. Finally, surely I can get to this — this sweet, indescribable AHHHH, things are going to be okay. I’ll just keep focused on that horizon — that beckoning pinpoint of light.
Those of you who’ve been following me know what I’ve been going through for well over a month now and those who are regular followers know how I tend to get deep and metaphorical sometimes. If that’s not your thing, you may want to clock out now because I’m going to be metaphoring all over the place in this post. For those who like that kind of thing, be patient with me and read on. I’ve missed y’all. I’ve missed my routines and the normalcy that was my life.
I usually post more than I’ve been doing these past few weeks but I’ve been busy. I’m doing so now because I want to share some joy, some good stuff.
Damn, how I love the good stuff.
Love, Pain, Up, Down, Joy, Sadness, Anger and All That Human Stuff
My Father is better. He is a badass. A badass.
I sometimes think he should have been born in a different era — like in cowboy days, where he’d get to roam big open spaces. I don’t ever remember him NOT having callused and rough hands. I can remember when my hand was tiny and I’d put it in his and it’d be rough, but it was comforting. It felt the way a Dad’s hand should feel. They’re softer now because of this “interruption” but I’ll just bet he’ll be roughing them up again — soon.
He’s as impatient as I am. But being impatient also makes one determined. And he is determined to get stronger and better. And he’s seeing that horizon too — I can see that in him now.
He’s a farmer at heart. A nature lover — everything in nature — he respects it. He can make or build anything. He built a house. He’s built furniture for famous people. He can paint pictures, wood carve. He’s made toys for the Ronald McDonald House. He painted a big tiger on the floor of our gym when I was in high school. He built the set for my high school dance/prom. He’s an observer, not a talker. He can size someone up from observing and he’s usually right. He’s soulful that way. He loves rock and classical music. He says things like, “You can’t help who you love.”
He’s always been brutally handsome — thick, blondish hair with a grin that knocked my Mom’s socks off. They met at a skating rink. They lived in Germany when other people back then didn’t do things like that. They raised four girls — all of us very dramatic and Southern; we can’t help ourselves. Daddy — the only man among five women. He was accustomed to pee breaks outside as we were growing up — with one bathroom.
He likes simple things but can figure out very complicated things. Knows what’s important. Loves his girls fiercely. He’s a protector, strong, sure.
Seeing him the way I have has been excruciating. It made me feel helpless, hopeless and pissed. Angry because I couldn’t fix or control any of it. I finally realized I didn’t have control over any of it.
I have felt terrified, alone, anxious, hopeful, desperate, panicked, irrational — all that. And the images in my head — they slap me awake at night. I know in time, it’ll pass. My Daddy has gone through far worse than me and I’m strong and can be strong for many people.
Those of you who’ve been through this with a parent know what I’m talking about. Seeing your protector vulnerable and hurting takes your breath away. Literally, I couldn’t breathe at times (when I was alone and could let the anguish out) and neither could he, literally at times.
Life Goes On
Here’s the thing you begin to realize when you go through a rough time and the fog in your head clears between those exhausting moments of wake and half-sleep. Life goes on. Except for you.
People keep doing what they do. You walk around and see them but it seems as if it’s surreal. You feel as if you’re in a dream — you know that feeling? Maybe it’s Nature/God/Eternal Something’s way of numbing and protecting your heart until you can settle down and deal. You think?
For a blip in this eternity, my life, as I knew it, just halted. It’s still in that stage but I’m beginning to exhale — just a tiny bit — tiptoe around anxiously so as not to knock over another karmic something that may make something else spin out of control.
I just keep looking toward that gorgeous horizon.
It’s there and we’ve not reached it yet, but I’m sure as hell not going to stop gazing at it now and thinking to myself, Just a little bit longer, just keep it in sight….