Good morning everyone! Happy Sunday. After horrible nightmares all night long, I woke in a pain that just won’t quit. And so what do I do? This morning I wrote a letter. This letter hurt me more than any other I’ve ever written. I write love letters to the people I most need to reach, when I have lost my way to reach them anymore. When my words are no longer adequate, I take my heart out of my chest and I squeeze her into my ink, and we dive in together and we write. Some of you, few of you, have received such letters from me. I’m sure you knew not then, that I wrote with the ink of my very own hearts pen. These letters are pieces of my soul that I pull out to spread across a page, to help you to see me, when you’ve no longer your eyes upon me. As I went through some of my mothers things, there were many of these pieces of my soul in her possessions. I knew when I saw my writing, that even thorough the distance, my mother knew I spilled the blood of my own heart and soul to reach her. When I could not reach her any other way, I wrote to her love letters. When she could not reach me any other way, she read them. When my Mom could not reach me any other way, she wrote me love letters. When I could not reach my mom any other way, I read them. I read my Moms love letters still, when I feel that I cannot reach her.
Today, I offer a love letter, through this distance and this silence, to my Dad. My Dad checks his mail every day, even on Sundays 😘, so I know he will get the message that I prepared with all of the love I could muster in my heart, in the mail this week. My dearest father, my first love letter.
I cannot find the exact quote or the author, so if anyone can, please send it to me…I paraphrase below one of my favorite quotes of all time:
When words are no longer adequate, when our feelings are greater than we are able to express in a usual manner; people turn to art. Some people turn to the canvas and some people dance and some people paint. Some prefer music. We all go beyond our normal means of communicating, to express ourselves. And this is a common human experience for all beings on this planet.
This quote, given to me by my art teacher in ninth grade reminds me a love such as this that I have for my father, and so I write.
Thank you my sister for your texts last night which prompted this writing this morning. I love you.
I hope each of you have a beautiful Sunday. I love you. Thank you for being here.
I love you Dad.