How sweet it is to be loved by you

 

I promise to never have bangs cut on the girls' skulls unless they choose them

Do you remember when men used to carry a [separate] wallet full of pictures of their families? They could stand around the water cooler on breaks at work and show them to their coworkers. They could meet random strangers with their kids at stores and say, "Oh wow! I have a daughter who looks about the same age as yours." And then he could put a finger up (please, hold) as he dug his picture wallet out of his pocket and flipped to the picture for proof. 
Remember?!

Me neither.

But after continuing to tackle random storage box clean outs, I found my dad's picture wallet. If he doesn't get a gold star for even distribution of pictures for all three kids, he should for having a picture of his in-laws! 

I still have a lot of my dad's hobbies stored away in random places: maps, stamps, rocks. I keep trying to get rid of stuff, telling myself that these seemingly boring collections were just as packratty to him as they are, now, to me. But I hold on. Yes, I have a bag full of stamps that he cut off his mail over the years. There's zero reasons for that to be a thing and I keep expecting to walk into my intervention any day now.

I am about to start reading Nicole Chung's new book, A Living Remedy. Her first book, All You Can Ever Know changed my life as a transracial, Korean adoptee. She gave me validation for all the feelings I could never admit until I was reading them on a page in my late 30s. The book inspired me to actively seek out adoptee groups, to learn the language I needed to explain who I was. It's cuckoo for cocoa puffs to think about how much I couldn't explain before reading her book.

I'll admit though, I am nervous about reading A Living Remedy. She writes about losing both of her parents and probably talks about the added layer of complexity to the grief that comes with being an adoptee. I know it will be heavy and will probably definitely make me cry...maybe in some good ways and maybe in other not as good ways. Regardless, I will read it and hopefully before it's been sitting on my nightstand for over a year. 

We're coming up fast on the 16th anniversary of my dad's death. While I worry that I am slowly forgetting him, I am starting to think less of the worst parts of his end of life. They were front and center memories and the person I saw when I thought of him. But now, as I go through boxes and tell my kids stories when something reminds me of him, I am able to remember him as his real, pre-cancer eaten self. 

As a timely reminder, he visited me in a dream a few weeks ago.

It starred a younger, healthy version of my dad. He was sitting on a park bench on a perfect day. The sun was shining warm, but it was cool in the shade, which covered both of us.  He was watching me, just a toddler, stand at a small fountain, in the middle of a gravel path. I was watching the water trickle down and babbling to myself. I look like my girls (because I have girls that look like me!) He was watching me like I was the best thing in his life at that moment, like he would do anything to help me build the future of my dreams. He was smiling and looked so in love and so joyful. There was no rush to be anywhere and he was content just watching me wonder. 

The dream only lasted minutes but it was the first dream I have remembered all year.

I understand the sentiment exactly. These days, I stare at my girls all the time. I love to watch their faces as they figure things out, as they learn to interact with the family, as they laugh and talk with each other. There are times when I feel like my heart will explode because it's so full or times when I feel like bursting into tears because I'm so in love.

Ready or not, A Living Remedy, here I come...