My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Monday, November 3, 2014
A New Way of Being Together
You have visited my dreams and there is no sadness in them, not even in the waking to find you are not here. This is, in its way, progress -- not in the sense of acknowledging that distance and the still terrible loss, since that was always known. Maybe it is in the satisfaction of being together in ways we could only wonder at so long ago, ways that make the absence different than it had been; and while it is less than we might once have wished it is not less than we now can offer.
Labels:
change,
doing the best you can,
dreams,
progress,
sadness,
togetherness,
without,
wonder
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