This has been one of the biggest weeks for my family. We found our home on Monday and my brother got married on Sunday.
(Congratulations David Obuchowicz and Sarah Waybright - it was perfect.)
Within all these rites of passage, I kept thinking about my dad, who passed away over three years ago now. I think he would have been so proud of where we’ve landed, and the way my brother and I ended up here (not out of conventional or convenience, but fueled by desire and commitment). And it’s sad that he hasn’t been here to see the fruition of the arduous work of parenting.
It’s one the hard parts of this wild nature we spring from: it ends, sometimes quite suddenly, and for this the living is that much sweeter. There’s a fierce compassion to it all which holds me and all the feelings that come up during these passages. The joy and the grief will eternally live together.
I can whisper into unknown to him that we’ve made it, not totally, but at least to the place where our roots can hopefully grow deep.
Sometimes there are answers. Since his passing, I’ve associated those floating, ethereal seed pods with his presence. Yesterday the GPS routed me strangely leaving the city, and I went with it. While stopped in traffic, I looked up and there were hundreds of those fluffy pods floating above us. It felt profound and silly all at once - kind of like this life we are living.