I’ve been trying to get to this post for a week. My writing practice is so off but the least I can do is remember my dad on his birthday.
I hadn’t even looked for a photo to post when I was sidetracked getting sick last week. Here I am now, back-tracking to his birthday, trying to call in his energy.
Finding “new” old photos of you makes me happy; any old day will do. I still feel your energy when I look at these lost moments in time. I collect bits and pieces of versions of you I didn’t even know, and somehow it makes me feel less alone, as if an old friend is staring back.
I think of all the versions of me that have come and gone since you left. Perhaps I should just let go. Still, I hang on to something in your eyes, in the way you hold your mouth, even in the props of your everyday life; it’s as if I can feel how they felt to you.
I still embody your existence so much because I get a kindred feeling that reminds me of the things I love and believe are true. I can’t let that go and I can’t miss a chance to call it up.