Last updated on October 13, 2021
Today is my Dad’s birthday.
It’s still a birthday even though he’s been gone for the last 14.
The rawness of grief doesn’t heal like a scar, only to be re-opened if you scratch at it. It’s more like a delicate pile of fallen leaves, protecting the wound at its root. The pain is always in reach.
The breeze of a smile that echoes the one you lost; an occasion with a gap his shape – these are things that rustle those leaves, uncovering the swells of grief. You choke on its familiar lump, you shudder beneath its weight, and feel the raw might of its roar. But you know the storm will pass. The leaves will settle again.
Winds will always blow. Leaves will rustle. But this tree will stand its ground.
For my Dad, who planted the seeds of wanderlust within me.