It has been awhile since I last posted. Not a whole lot has really happened since then. I would like to talk about another journey that I am on right now.. It is the journey of healing from loss. Three years and 4months ago I said goodbye to one of the most important men in my life. He was a man of word, a man of strength , and a man of self worth. He is the man to whom I compared all men to and still compare my husband too , to this day. This man I speak of is my father Gerald Edward Davis.
Although he was not a perfect man he was my father. His family meant everything to him. He would walk through fire or jump in front of a speeding bus for any of us. That didn't just stop with his wife of 40 some years and his children , but it also extend into his many branches of family and friends.
There are many times of the year that are especially hard for me. One being his birthday May 28, another being his date of death Oct 5, and my birthday Feb 28. I know you think well why would your birthday be so hard. I will tell you why.. Since I was a small child it was a running joke of the family that my dad was the one that has wanted me. Not that my mom didn't love me and want me as well , but she had endured 3 miscarriages and 3 live births by the time I was born. To say the least she was done and the thought of another pregnancy with three small children already I think scared the hell out of her. See in 1977 the wife still had to get written consent from her husband in order to get a tubal, my dad wouldn't sign until she had one more.. And you guessed it I was the one more..LOL...
I think my father pushed in hopes I would be born a boy seeing how they had 2 girls and 1boy. I just made girl number 3 which I don't think my dad minded a bit. I was his tomboy and was never much into the girl things. There is exactly 9 months to the day from his birthday to mine May 28- Feb 28 you do the math. I tease that we know what his present was the year of 1976..
With my birthday only a few weeks away my heart aches . It aches to hear his voice if only for just a moment. It aches to see his smile, to catch a glimpse of him in his flannel shirt, or a hint of his scent. It aches the most to touch him to give him one last hug and kiss. As I write this tears fill my eyes and stream down my cheeks. It hurts at times so bad that I truly think my heart will stop. It is days like this the come less frequently since his passing which scares me.
For my children I try to keep his memory alive for fear they won't know who he is. In reality my youngest doesn't and she never really will know who her grandfather was. She was merely 8 months old when he passed. My hope is that my oldest will remember bits of his grandfather , but the unsettling fear that my middle child will eventually forget is a harsh reality. I keep photos of him hanging in our dinning room and I try to talk about him as much as I can .
They say time heals all wounds I am not sure that is exactly true.. For my wound may not be as open or as jagged as when first made. My wound will never close and it will never fully heal. Grief is a powerful thing that you have to learn to live with and not allow it to live you ..
