A Relationship
This page has been empty for some time now. For over a year I’ve tripped, stumbled and fumbled my way through the parts of me I’ve gladly tucked away in the Christine filing cabinet called “LIFE.” I started with the top drawer or, the stories of my past that felt easier to look at and heal. But, the truth is, It’s time to move on. Next drawer, here I come.
I believe wholeheartedly in the power of healing and forgiveness. Looking deep inside ourselves at the places that hurt us, cause us pain or hold us back can, in fact, be the most gracious act of self-care. Of course, it’s not easy and we have to be willing to go there.
What I know is the world is not against us. The universe is not conspiring to make our existence a living hell. It is here to help us love fully, create authentically and stand in our own miraculous truth. The hiccup, however, is our willingness to open our hearts to the little life lessons that come before us. It’s our willingness to keep moving forward. To do the work and be accepting of both the pain and freedom it can afford you.
I open this drawer with courage, strength and a LOT of care. The first file is simply titled “My Dad and Me.”
It’s difficult for my father to read my blog and I’m walking the slow road of accepting this. I’ve spent way too many hours, cried too many tears praying to god and all things holy that he might, one day, want to join me here~ In this place of vulnerability and openness.
My father is and will always be a remarkable human being. He is a lover of facts and family history. He is a brilliant doctor who magically knows how to talk anyone down from the WebMD fear mongering hole of worst case scenarios. “Take two Advil, get some rest and we will talk in the morning.” For most of his career he carried a black leather doctor’s bag and, at times, looked like he stepped right out of a Norman Rockwell painting.
As a child, I remember the phone ringing in the middle of dinner or in the early morning hours. Neighbors and family members often called for advice or asked to stop by with a foreign skin rash on their finger or a possible broken bone. My father, over and over again, welcomed them in.
In my eyes, my father was a hero. He helped people and told them everything will be ok.
As a child and young adult, he had all of me.
STAY TUNED…check back for Part !! :)
