Dear Dad.

Screenshot 2014-03-17 08.38.38Cranston, Rhode Island. Green, green, green. Woke up with the feeling of oneness of love and gratitude. Ran down the bike path on one of the most beautiful days in Cranston RI. Squirrels, poison ivy, jewel weed, little purple flowers.

We are getting clearer about at least the short term goals here. Okay, here we go! and then, another Idea comes. Hmmm. Good days, bad days, in and out of sleeping in his chair. “I don’t sleep during the day!” He’s sleeping, yes, he is.

breathing in, I am alive, breathing out, I am releasing.

Moved my dad’s bed downstairs, and we checked out another ‘retirement community’. One step at a time.

Cleaning out drawers, cupboards, funky this and that. throwing out stuff and stuff and more stuff. 5 can openers? 25 spatulas? 472 shirts? Cans and cans, piles of out dated cans. Old pillows, chairs, rugs, in various states of deterioration. cans

My dad grew up during the depression. All things are sacred. The religion he follows is garage sale signs; his place of worship every Sunday, flea markets. (yes, I was a loyal follower too for years. I am a recovering garage sale-a holic). Now he is letting me throw stuff out, he is releasing, accepting. He is willing to face his situation. He is courageous and pragmatic in a New Yorker sort of way.

Yet again, and again, It’s just opening to guidance, taking the next obvious action, just one step after the other. Breathing each time I remember. Being honest about what’s up for me, love, worry, love, acceptance, love, fear, love, joy, anger, love,

might I always return to love.

The wind just came up. The sun’s going down.

Love.

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