this is tagged as a #traumatic #emotional #crazy post.
I realize as “moved on” as I’m about my dad’s death; as much as I know he is in “the better place”, there are certain places and moments in a day, week, month that I feel as close to him as real. It is moments where I walked past the semi-closed door of my parents room, and I think I see him lying there asleep like how I would view it as a kid. It’s a fraction of memory and it feels like my heart has been wrenched out and squeeze out dry like a sponge.
Dry. I think that’s how one of such moments feel like, so fictional yet so real. Life goes on and I go on about my daily routine.
As I watched family flocked in and out of the army open house, I was reminded of my dad and his army stories that he narrated to me as I was growing up. As the fathers pulled along these kids, I saw the admiration and joy on the camo-painted faces of the kid.
In the course of two weeks, I’m reminded repeatedly of the importance and the need to honor the fathers of our land. There is something significant when the heart of the father is turned back to the son and when the son is turned back to the father. First the physical then the spiritual. It’s not a coincidence that the theme of 45years of national service is : “from fathers to son”.
Maybe I’m blowing too much in proportion. Now how did a “sozo-needed-demon-deliverance-emo-heart-wrenching” post turned into such an awkwardly holy one. I think “honor your father and mother” does not stop at not arguing with them or respecting them for the things they have done.
Have a BLASTING day ahead.