I love you as big as the sky.
Countless Sunday afternoons were spent that way, laying on the trampoline staring up into the sky. As the heat of the sun reflected beneath and around us we laid in the quiet after we tired out from bouncing. There in the quiet we gazed up into the sky as planes flew by and the birds around us sang their songs. Sure there were noises of the highway and neighbors but everything just felt so still. Me and my Dad together on a Sunday afternoon with nothing better to do than staring up into the sky talking about what we saw. The slowness. The stillness. The sweetness.
I don’t find myself having or making the time to simply stare up into the sky all too often anymore. My Sunday afternoons now are filled with homework and meetings and events if not chores or travel. But there’s a rawness in the slowing. Stopping to feel the sweetness and stillness he is no longer with me in. Holding the lack of his presence that slowed me down and told me I was safe and enough. Looking into the eyes that formed my story.
And I struggled at first balancing whether to peak ahead in the chapters of my pages of grief or whether to look back on the memories. Most days I couldn’t control where my mind would take me but some it just meant sitting it whatever was the least painful. Each turn of each page hurt so much holding the stories of who he was and all he meant, but knowing the new pages of new life he would never see. I still hear country songs and measure their place in time, thinking whether or not my Daddy heard this song. No matter where I go in my story, I end up telling his and to be honest I just miss the slow and the still as he would read me to sleep with his slow talking voice ending the day with, “I love you princess girl.”
This is the last Sunday he would have spent before turning 58. We would have gone to lunch and planned up his “birth week” probably with a movie and a fun meal on the agenda if not skeet shooting or scuba diving. But no matter the celebration he would or wouldn’t receive it wouldn’t hold a candle to what he truly valued, just being present with the people he loved.
I’m learning to embrace the safety of being. Just being present as the time passes and planes fly by as we look into the sky and not talk about who we are or what we have done, but simply what we see.
What I see is a world that is in no way the same without you. But a world where you love is still as big as the sky.