When I wrote about my father’s death yesterday, I stopped writing because I wasn’t sure what else to say. There is so much I could say and yet I’m not sure what it is I want to say. Thank you all for your concern. I hope this doesn’t sound heartless, but it actually isn’t a painful time for me. It’s been ten years and in many ways I feel like I haven’t explored my feelings about his death. As I said in a post a while back, I am better at talking about others than about myself. I am also better about talking about inspirng things, than sad things. I like to feel happy. I do feel happy most of the time, as annoying as thta may sound. But I wonder sometimes what it is I am repressing by being such an optimist. So, I wanted to explore my darker feelings about this, but I don’t know where to start without invading the privacy of my mother, who is the one who was hit the hardest.

For me, the hardest part about my father’s death was watching my mother suffer and be in pain for so long. That is where my energy went. A lot of energy. I began to know her better. That was a posiive thing for me. (There I go making a sad story happy again.)

What should I write about today? What is MY part two?

What have I been afraid to write about….to think about? I will put my four year old down for a nap and I will be back.

+++++++++++++

I’m back and still not sure what it is I want to say. Why am I here wanting to express something and not knowing what I feel?

I do have feelings. Maybe I am afraid to say them because they are not what people might expect me to feel.

My father was an exceptional man. A very good father. A kind human being. And like anyone interestiing, a complicated person.

We were connected at the heart. We understood each other’s hearts. We would look at each other and know that we were of the same heart.

But of the mind, I’m not so sure. I’m not sure that we understood each other in this sense. Or maybe what I want to say is, I’m not so sure he understood me. Why do I want to write about that? I don’t know. Does it matter to me? It must, but I don’t know. I do feel that he understands me now.

Why am I writing this? And why am I cryng now? Maybe because I would have liked to have the opportunity to have our minds meet, like our hearts did.

And I didn’t know that until right now.

And I think that is maybe all I wanted to understand.

Thank you for listening. There may be more tomorrow. There may not be.

Thank you.