A New Dawn

Three years ago today, the world sputtered and came to a screeching halt. Well, at least it felt that way.

Back up… Remember those nagging questions about how to get more out of life I mentioned in the blog about our motorcycle trip? Well, as it turns out we’ve been having those thoughts for some time, even back to our days in beloved Portland, Oregon. So in the fall of 2006, Sean and I picked up our lives and our stuff and our cats and we moved to Minnesota. You see, my dad was a master of getting the most out of life and we thought we'd come here and learn from the best. So we moved to the Twin Cities, within easy driving distance to the life’s-work cabin he and my mom had been building for years. Tired of being spectators from 1700 miles away, we made the leap with great expectations and joy in our hearts.

Just a few short weeks later, the universe saw fit to take Dad from us. I guess he was needed more somewhere else, although I find that difficult to believe.

I’d love to be able to say we all kept his philosophy of life in mind as we grieved, aged, lived, and moved forward over the next three years. At times the sadness was too much even for the best of us.  But we picked up the pieces and went on with our lives, just as he’d want us to. 

Now, however, we find ourselves at a new dawn – one of truly joyful changes. My sister Jess and I are BOTH pregnant—11 weeks apart. We are the only two siblings and it’s her first baby as well. Talk about magic!  A beautiful spring after the long, dark winter.  So today, instead of being sad, I will celebrate our new dawn…  soft baby skin and the magical wonders of the world; zerberts and giggles; mischief and shenanigans; and rowdy, lively holiday gatherings. Sean said it best: Life’s fighting back.

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In honor of the day, I thought I’d post the poem I wrote just after my dad passed away. If you knew him, remember him. Even if you didn’t, take a cue from him and remember to live each day to the absolute fullest.

Sanctuary
Please do not repost or reprint without permission.

Majestic, magic oak tree.
                      Sturdy, genuine, gentle; my epitome of strength.

Mischievous chipmunks in the woodpile.
                      That twinkle in your eye.

Coyotes calling.
                      Family.

A solitary buck.
                      Respect.

The plunk of an acorn in the water - a near miss.
                      There's that twinkle again.

The impossible flutter of a hummingbird's wings.
                      I feel blessed to have you near me.

A soaring hawk, carefully encircling the land.
                      "Stick together, and don't be afraid."

Ironwood, birch, maple; white oak, red oak, walnut.
                      Dad, I still have so much to learn from you.

I will look for you, when next I go, to our sanctuary.