exhale inhale

It's strange but this blah feeling came over me a couple of weeks ago and I can't tell you what it's about. I don't feel depressed. I really don't feel anything at the moment. Just vacant. And I find that an odd way to feel at any time. 
It is coming around to the twentieth anniversary of my father's death - November 8th at 2:00 PM. And my mind is replaying every single moment of that time that's etched permanently in my heart. I think this is where my mood lies. I went to have my own private remembrance day with my father on the weekend, sat in the cool grass, tossed the long since dead leaves about and watched my breath go in an out, as I sat remembering that time so vividly. On went my headphones as I listened to David Foster play the songs that felt heavenly to me then. Something to help carry my father's mind to the place I believed he was venturing towards. And then the heaving of my chest as the tears came and I sobbed.
When he died, I was almost euphoric with the joy you'd expect, to know someone you love is no longer suffering. I realized it meant a huge ending in my life. But for whatever reason, none of that mattered because watching him unable to eat, move or be mobile was painful for me. He had shriveled into a small little man but my vision of his strength - his muscular body and washboard abs - stayed a clear picture in my mind. He was seeing people who had died (who I believed had come to him for comfort) and he was making bargains with me. Hopeful God would hear him. But that was not what the universe had planned for him. He was remorseful and afraid. And I sat and waited, speaking softly and clearly. Sharing stories of my memories. Being honest about my feelings. Telling him I would hold him for always in my heart and that his father was waiting for him.
It was the hardest, yet most amazing two weeks of my life. A gift really. But now, twenty years later, I hurt. Because I did need more. I wanted more time. Where it was just him and I. In a place where he was vulnerable and able to be honest and clear with me as a peer, rather than his daughter or child.
There is no celebration in loss. There is nothing that makes you feel better really. It is a dull ache that never leaves you. It wraps itself around who you think you are and alters it forever. The one man I knew I could always count on was gone. And now there would never be another. And I believed that. Because I had lived it.
So - Dad - I wish I could wish you back for a day. The grief club is a big one. But I will have to wait. I will have to believe you are out there somewhere. Waiting in a place where time no longer exists. And the comfort I take in that is knowing and hoping we will be able to embrace on a level that is equal in compassion, love and understanding. It was wrong of me to judge you; more that I should be judging myself. I have made my own series of mistakes that in many ways have hurt those I love dearly. So no one is perfect. But I know you see that. And as I have forgiven and moved on, so have you. 
I miss you daddy.

the softest of landings

So I have been thinking a lot about where I've landed. And there's a comfort about it that I haven't felt in quite some time. The people that surround me have hearts of goodness, kindness and love. And honestly, it leaves me wondering how this came into my life. 

I never would have guessed that the people I work with would all care about me so much. It's almost strange because all I am being is myself. Usually in my work related positions, I have had to dance in circles to feel appreciated and cared for. Given all I can of myself and truthfully, almost felt resentful for the lack of appreciation that comes back my way. What is strange in this situation is that I began just fulfilling the role I was hired to complete. They were happy with that. And as time passed, they "loved my energy" and the "joyful, caring heart" and "laughter" I brought to the office. I was described by one as a light bulb of happiness that made people want to be there. Simple, sweet and sincere compliments that I didn't take too seriously.

Then, it felt like a brief moment in time, the owner swept through with personnel changes and brought me downstairs where he was. He brought in a younger woman to work with me and asked me to work full time. There was no doubt I needed the money so I accepted (reluctantly - I must admit). And there I was.

And then I heard, "I haven't loved coming to work this much in such a long time. Thank you." I still did not understand what made my presence worthy of these comments. It was all kindness. I continued to learn everything there was to be taught. Because it became important to me to see the people who seemed to care for me do well. And I knew I had the skills to improve things in my small way in the office. Things are getting better and better and better for them. And I am, in a small way, responsible for it.

They have given me cash to treat my family to dinner. They have given me gift cards to take my family to dinner. They are paying for extra health care so my family has dental, prescriptions, holistic health care - and it is all a gift. And I haven't asked for a raise, because I do the books and I know we aren't quite there yet for me to ask. The owners are not rolling in wealth. They are hard working and trying to get this business operating securely and for the long haul. So we are at the early stage and they see I have invested myself in their vision and understand it.

I have never laughed so heartily - like a true ab workout - as I do when we all are laughing. I am treated as a partner, not an employee. And today, I was told that I am loved. When I looked back at them, they said, "Now don't go home and think we are weird and all for saying this. It isn't the way some may think it is. What it is is that we do love you Wendy. We just do." And that was from no where. It was just because I am there, working hard for them and wishing from inside my heart that they will do well.

So am I lucky? I think so. I really do. Sometimes it isn't about the money you make. It's about the comfort you feel inside when you feel cared for and know that what you are doing means something to somebody. Yeah, I am really lucky.