That day

There was sawdust flying, banging and students talking. I was in the midst of it trying to convince him to do something he refused to……

It almost feels like we buried our dad today. The feeling in the courtroom was eerie and emotional. There were too many of us to fit in one row, we spilled out into the next. Our father was a stones throw away but we couldn’t be near him.

One by one we painted pictures with our words trying to show a larger picture of who our father is.

We all said similar things:
Supportive
Kind
Loving
Challenging

It was as if something was being stripped away to reveal the emotions we were hiding as we took the stand to testify. We had never spoken about how we were feeling.

We cried, hugged, laughed, reminisced, hoped…

Hoped that everything we had to say would make the judge be merciful.

Hoped that our father would be allowed to say goodbye. But he wasn’t.

As long as this has been unfolding, we have not really spoken about it. We have carried on with a quiet confidence and maybe a skewed reality. I hadn’t emotionally connected with what was happening to our family. Today, our fears met our realities and our father was sent to jail.

Just six hours later and I was sitting with my brother watching him create. As he filed wood and made plans I couldn’t help but think about what had just happened to us. We sat in a crowded room and carried on business as usual and no one had a clue.
He wouldn’t tell anyone.
Wouldn’t ask for an extension on the project that he was working on.
Would not stop or let any one in…

I think about how many of us are carrying around deaths or symbolic burials each day. How we carry on, doing all we can to hold it together because life must go on.

I think about the difference community makes. How important it is to share our pain and the things that occupy our minds. Not surprising to me that God desires for us to be in relationship with others.

It is beyond necessary to be there, cry with, pray for, love, support and reach out.

My sister said that it felt like our arms just weren’t long enough to reach our dad. I am thankful for the arms that were long enough to reach me…. and hopeful that mine will be long enough to reach you.