Thanksgiving, early 70'sI owe a lot of the inspiration for my new post at The Next Family to my friend Kate whose own brave and honest and thought-provoking blog post (that asks questions like "What would happen to these dears if something were to happen to us? Would they remember how loved they were just from pictures?") inspired me to wake up in the middle of the night and write this:
Is He Calling?
By Barbara Matousek
Maybe it’s because the Packers are 7-0 for the first time since 1962, or maybe it’s because my sister and I will be together for Thanksgiving for the first time since a few years after Dad died, or maybe it’s because my son is attending a Catholic preschool and brings home things like “A Christian pumpkin,” or maybe it’s because I recently re-read my friend Katherine’s book about her battle with cancer, or maybe it’s because I watch my mother aging and realize how really tiny our family is, or maybe it’s because I’m developing a friendship with a woman who has complete faith in God the way my father did, or maybe it’s because I’m raising my children surrounded by families with good fathers. Maybe it’s all of these things, but I find myself missing my dad a lot lately.
Last night I had a dream. Dad and I were in a hotel room casually packing up the last of our things after having spent a few days traveling together. We were getting ready to re-enter our normal lives. The time and place of our adventure weren’t clear, but it was clear we were accustomed to traveling together and had been traveling for several days. We had our routine. I was going through the drawers, finding little things we’d left behind and shoving them into one of my smaller carry bags. Dad said he was going to make a trip down to the car with the big bags.
“Take your time,” he said. “I’ll meet you down there,” and he left. Just like that. Casual.
Kalamazoo, circa 1972
Snowshoeing during the winter I lived in Creede, Colorado (2004)
Hiking in Kauai
Watching the sunset from the south shore of Lake Superior
3 comments:
Thank you Barb for your lovely comment on my blog. You have no idea how absolutely humbling it is to have so many reach out to me. Yesterday was pretty scary but I can't regret it knowing that it might help other abuse survivors.
Jo
Thank YOU, Jo. It's kind of ironic that you would come to my blog and comment here at the bottom of an essay about my father. I was thinking last night about how heartbroken my father would be over all of this, how enraged and heartbroken he would be. You are so incredibly brave and your willingness to publicly put a name and a face and a voice where the words "abuse victims" are is really powerful. It's hard to ignore the culpability of those in power when you see the faces of the victims. I'm so grateful for having stumbled on to your story. It's very powerful.
Such a wonderful and bittersweet post Barb. You are so lucky that you and your dad were so close. I am watching my own dad age, and it is so hard for both of us. I like to think that he was paying you a visit. What a great reassurance. xo
Post a Comment