Fatherless daughter sounds like the scarlett letter to me. A hushed empathy comes over my countenance when I think of the magnitude of such a statement. Depending on the circumstance the void could potentially feel inconsolable yet for others only a foreign curiosity as the old adage says “what you dont know can’t hurt you”. Then you have the select group who wear their parental estrangement like an unfortunate badge of honor. Perhaps I fall somewhere in the middle. Scattered around with a mixture of grief and confirmed resolve. My father raised me. I was not a little girl lost. I know what it means to see a father beam with pride at the talent show. I understand the importance of those long car rides and the comforting silence. I understand the feeling of safety and belief that your dad has superman strength. I get it. A father is irreplaceable. He initiates confidence and the desire to thrive. I think of my father often. We are estranged for reasons I dare not say in such an open forum. With that said I have found great healing in watching my husband parent our sons. I have found joy in raising boys. They have shown me that the man who raised me was once a boy and in many ways that boy still lives in him. I parent them with that in mind. I am preparing future men. Future fathers. Keeping true to this idea, I nurture them and foster love and kindness in our relationship. Even without knowing him they are seeds of their grandfather. In a way I have a chance to amend where his parents missed the mark. And watching the love my husband flourishes on them shows me a new chapter of what a father’s love looks like. Love being the constant motivating action. The broken part of me…that little girl who missed having her dad is found. She was lost somewhere back there. Desolate and in many ways completely abandoned, angry, and divided. But now…she’s found. She’s healing. And she’s within me.
Limited Time Only
Scores of marketing pros add this slogan to their pricing ads as an attempt to entice consumers hungry for a deal. They’re buying experience catapulted into somewhat of an elite aura. The item is only available for a limited time. The special pricing is only available for a limited time. It hit me in the middle of the night how often we forget that we are only here for a limited time. Shall this fact add more fervor and value to this experience we call life? Limited time only. Oh we hear it all the time. Life is precious. Life is short. But what does that truly mean? Perhaps it means that this limited time offer should be approached with an astute attention to avoiding complacency. Willing to grapple with fears that hold you to childhood traumas which replay in your adult life like the story we have read far too many times. I have learned the script of dysfunction with an unparalleled ability. I dance with rage and flirt with sadness. The warmth of wine trickles into areas unknown to any man. Sliding through softly and numbing all that is unholy within me. But my time is limited. I find excitement in that. Because the truth of the matter is Limited Time means I have absolutely nothing to lose. Every second my heart beats provides another chance. An opportunity to try something new. A chance to right what I assume may have been wrong. And an opportunity to learn the difference. My Limited Time says the mistakes of my 20’s can be looked upon with a humorous glee. And the foretelling of my 30’s will open a sea of knowledge and experiences I may not have been ready for in the past anyway. I can walk to the beat of my own drum. In this Limited Time I will learn my beat, and connect with that drum. Limited Time means no matter how things may appear from the diluted perspective of personal experience…All is Well, and it is so.
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