Sometimes it takes the loss of another father to cause you to realize once again that you’ve lost yours. And the emotions that were held inside a balloon start to leak out. And you break again.
But the word “loss” isn’t the best word for those of us with a hope that endures. And it isn’t just hope either. It’s expectation– a yearning laced with joy that seeps in through the cracks. When the King, the Annointed One, is the Head of your life, you don’t even need to be told Who is in control. Or with Whom you can rest and dwell. It is beyond a theology, an idea, or a cliche. It’s the essential truth of your existance, and you cannot be separated from it. I suppose that is what faith is: glue that binds the Creator to the Created. And rebellion against that relationship is the antithesis.
At any rate, fathers are here for a time. We use them, learn from them, draw from them, and hold onto them; and then perhaps at the very moment G-d knows we are ready to be without them they are no longer there. So to what do we hold on? Memories? Each other? G-d? Or do these things hold on to us? I wonder.
I used to say I never cried.
Yet, He gives me peace.