Thursday, April 21, 2011

Bigger Picture Moment: My Consolation Prize

Simple BPM

Every Thursday, we share the harvest of intentional living by capturing a glimpse of the bigger picture through a simple moment.

Want to join us? Simply capture your moment in whatever fashion speaks to you. Grab the Bigger Picture, Simple Moments button {code to the right}. Link your piece. And then encourage the two {or more} people who linked their moments.

After linking, you might find your moment shared at our community site for Bigger Picture Blogs.

Live. Capture. Share. Encourage.

That's the essence of Bigger Picture, Simple Moments; we're looking forward to walking together in intentional living this week.

At his funeral, long faces, downcast eyes, quivering lips promised it would get easier.

A few weeks.

A few months.

A few years.

That time would heal my heart.

That memories of my father's large, olive-complected hands, deep, calm voice would bring smiles instead of tears when I gazed upon a picture of his young, proud face beaming, strong frame standing tall, dressed finely in his firemen's best, his fatherly hands resting atop my tall eight-year-old shoulders, our coppery penny locks and soft caramel eyes accenting each other neatly.

They tried to tell me that time would ease the heart-sinking feeling induced by dusting picture frames amid the dim spring sunlight sauntering through my dining room windows.

That the open-chest wound would feel more like a finger nicked by a knife.

Maybe there's some truth to these smattering of promises that I have yet to find and pick up, inhale and breathe in so deep, internalize.

But so far.

So far -- time?

Time hasn't actually made it easier.

Time simply has made it more real.

Less fragmented,

less I-just-woke-up-from-a-bad-dream,

less alternate universe

less really-that's-not-going-to-be-his-voice-on-the-other-end-of-the-line.

But not easier.

At least, not after the span of nearly a year, after 360 round days of swallowing

over and over

and over and over again

my new reality of life without my dad.


Maybe not ever.

But real.

Real has the possibility of being a suitable consolation prize after the days tick by and easy never does come knocking on the heart's door.

In loving memory of my earthly captain, Brian W. Filippi.