Jeff's gone. I know that. The kids know that. But he is still such an enormous part of every day, every moment, every breath.He is thought of constantly. Cherished. Missed.
We talk about him multiple times everyday. To feel close to him. To ensure that my children who were so young when their daddy died, exercise those memories so that they are not lost. So that they can remember who their daddy really was....to them.
But I worry about forgetting. In the days after Jeff died, I made pages of 'Jeff'. This list contained everything from his righthandedness, to his favourite beer, to what he wanted to name our babies. These items were concrete. Firm. Easy to sum up.
How do I write lists including the joy with which he would dance or sing, the way his breath on the back of my neck would comfort me or how he made me feel when he held my hand? These things are sensed. Felt.
I wish that they would know the smell of their father. I always told him that he smelled of wood. Or that they could see the ease with which he shovelled ice on the boat.
I am afraid that they will lose him again....or more, if I don't cling to these memories and relive them over and over.
I want them to know him. I want them to remember his love and devotion to them. I want them to feel his strength, joy and kindness within themselves...because he was a truly great man. And he would be so proud of them. As I was of him.
I too felt feel the same with my daughter. She was only 4 and a half when her daddy died. Even though she remembers him, I still felt the need to do something so she would never forget. This past Christmas I had a book made thru Shutterfly of just her and her Daddy, complete with captions that she would remember. It turned out so beautifully.
ReplyDeleteLet his name be "ever the household word that it always was, let it be spoken without effort" Henry Scott Holland.
ReplyDeleteIt is important that we keep their spirit alive, especially with the young children who might not even realize how much they have lost.
Your words echo my own that I think in my head all the time. I'm always thinking of him. Talking about him with the kids is like breathing, it must be done, it is constant. I am sad that my baby who was only 11 months at the time will never know him, only the stories we tell.
ReplyDelete