Sunday, June 19, 2011


It has been two Fathers’ Days since my father died, and this year waves of grief do not crash through me. As time erodes the mountains into softer, less jagged hills, so does time turn seas of sadness into softer swells. Now, I find I miss my father in the small spaces of living, when his memory comes creeping in unexpected during everyday moments: washing the dishes, the way the clouds layer in the sky before dark, the crimson of my currants. These small pricks of memory, of sensing him, sometimes make me tear up but more often, they make me smile, feel gratitude for having him in my life at all. I take each memory as it comes and stack it carefully on top of the last, a cairn, my monument.

Peace, Linda


  1. So bittersweet - the sting of grief accompanied by the loveliest memories. How lucky you were to have such a special father, and to have so many wonderful memories.

  2. I'm sorry for your pain, Linda, but not for the source of it. I'm glad you had such a vital father for so long in your life.

  3. Time really is the greatest healer.


  4. Memories are the treasures we are left with when life moves forward. Your memories of your father were lovely, put them in your pocket and when you need them, bring them back out.