He Would Have Been 94

It's Dad's birthday today. It feels impossible to think he would have been 94 years old. We lost the essence of him before he reached his 58th birthday.

Whispers of the memory of Dad still come to the surface but it is all pretty repetitive stuff. Memories I've recalled on many occasions, stories relayed by his brothers, family and friends. It's all comforting and familiar.

This week, my aunt mentioned my uncle (Dad's brother) used to mark his tools with four marks, which signified his birth order in the family. The minute she said this, I recalled my brother mentioning Dad marked his tools with (was it??) two lines or marks of some sort.

Did I remember this correctly? Was it two notches? He was the second oldest in the family so it makes perfect sense.

It is just a little unknown fact that was revealed to me. It was an unexpected gift on an regular, ordinary day.

I recall a little memory of Dad that came to me in and around the time of this conversation. It was a long, forgotten memory that was nudged to the surface. I can't put my finger on what it was right now but it was another "touched by an angel" kind of moment. Just a small gift when I least expected it.

I'm so grateful to live a life where I'm in a position to be around people who knew Mom and Dad before I existed and speak the language of family, friends/neighbors and stories I've heard all my life.

I knew I was "coming home" when I moved my young family out here after Dad died. I had hopes and dreams of knowing the family I came from but had no idea how that would come to be.

It has been a slow and gradual process. Collecting our family's memories has been a gift which has kept on giving. I became grounded as I came to know both Mom and Dad's family and continue to feel like a vital part of our extended family.

I read this (slightly paraphrased) yesterday:

"If we build our lives on shaky foundations, we should not be surprised when things start collapsing."

The words resonated somewhere deep within me. I started building a firm foundation for my little family when we moved out here. This foundation has been shaken but it has never faltered. And it has only gotten stronger throughout the years.

Nestled in this house I like to call home, living in and among family, I feel so very deeply rooted that I feel I could weather most any storm. When little rays of light shine unexpectedly shine through a day and I'm gifted with a renewed memory of Mom or Dad, I marvel at the good fortune to be living a life I truly meant I was meant to live.

I rebuilt a home on a foundation of family, history and stability. I felt Dad's nod of approval as I made this move 31 years ago and I still his essence within me, my thoughts and beyond.

Happy Birthday, Dad. Thank you for being who you were, leading a good, honorable life which was built on a foundation solid enough to build a family unit which is so united. I'm so grateful to be known as your daughter.