This post is from February, 2009. It was around the time my father died. Today is his birthday, a fitting tribute.
The above is a concert clip of Eric Clapton performing Broken Hearted. The song is beautiful and fitting for me as I lost my father a couple of weeks ago.
If you read my blog for insights on leadership and development, I hope you will allow me to take a road not often traveled here.
I’m now faced with understanding a void like I’ve never faced before. But what is striking me most is all things I’m learning that didn’t occur when my father was living. When you’re playing your part on the stage of life you just can’t see everything the audience does. I write this with tears.
I won’t give you any advice in this post on how to handle losing a loved one. I’m discovering that a broken heart can make way for something God-Touched.
My friend Marc sent the above short to me today…it is well worth the 5 minutes It appears it was made a couple of years ago. I think about where I was at then. Trying to make sense of a new way working and living. Not having the energy anymore to grade people on "style points." Funny how certain images/places in time stir you.
This short clip was timely, considering my struggle to learn how to live differently-in light of my father's passing.
I've cried today more than I have in a while.
Here's what crossed my heart and mind as I watched the above video:
The last communication I had with my father was a kiss. No words, just a kiss.
It's never a good idea to pretend…be vulnerable.
I'm glad God introduced a level of humility to me 3 years ago that I needed desperately. It softened my heart and allowed me to see with eyes of forgiveness and tenderness-specifically toward my father.
I hugged and kissed my son when he got off the bus today. We've always shared physical affection, but today I needed to plant a seed.
I don't know when my heart will mend.
Maybe what's inside me has changed the world (thank you, Robin).
Even the strong need to allow themselves to be weak.
A couple of months ago I met a lady named Giselle. It was a chance meeting. She was the physical therapist assigned to my mom who is embarking on the journey of knee replacement surgery. As I sat with my mom during the interview, Giselle asked about my dad who passed away in January of 2009. This information must have been in my mom's records. She seemed genuinely concerned as she reviewed my mom's history. After a brief pause she explained that she had lost her mom three weeks prior.
A chapter opened.
Giselle spoke much of her mom. She mentioned her mom's career achievements, how much her father loved her and how sudden she passed after being diagnosed with cancer. I just listened, as I remembered my own words after my dad's passing. I felt like I was watching a movie of my own life.
Giselle then surprised me by asking about my own journey through grief. I explained to her that my dad's passing looked nothing like what I thought it would have. I was one of those people who believed they could prepare for the fateful day. Consequently, I experienced what the Valley really looked like from my own experience. A cruel teacher at times.
I went on to tell her that after his funeral, it felt like the earth (at least where my dad existed inside of me) was scorched. As if some great fire had consumed all that I knew. But with all of that, a shoot of green appeared from that charred ground. I wasn't paying much attention and I was consumed by who was lost. I'm sure she understood the process of looking for the face and presence of someone you love. I told her that in that place, over time, gave way to what began looking more and more like a flower. As more time passed the flower bloomed into something like I'd never seen before. The most beautiful flower where Charles once was.
I told Giselle that my little story was my best attempt at describing my process of dealing with my dad's passing. Funny thing was, I'd never told anyone that story until that day and time. Amazing how life unfolds. Amazing.
