Thirty years ago today, 1/13/89, my father's life ended, by his own choice.
Suicide. That word nobody wants to talk about.
It's not polite. Though it's all too prevalent in our world.
But that's not why I'm writing this blog tonight.
I'm writing it because after thirty years, I found myself torn today between thinking that I SHOULD be feeling awful, as I consider the memory, and instead wanting to do with it as I have been doing with so many things in my life in the past year.
LET IT GO.
It's time, don't you think? I mean, 30 years - that's a long time to hold on to something. Anything.
It's important to remember. To learn from it. But then, to let it go. To allow it to become part of my past, as I make room for my future.
Allow the memory to live on only as it may contribute to more love. More beauty. More joy.
My father loved that I was an artist. One of my last memorable Christmas gifts from him was a gift certificate to my favorite art store. He wanted me to paint...more.
So perhaps that will be how I honor this day, this year. I will make the commitment to paint... more.
He was 58 years young when he died. Exactly the same age as I am now.
Time to start living life facing forward, rather than looking in the rearview mirror.
Besides... I'm terrible at backing up. Have you seen the rear bumper on my car?!
Nite nite. Blessings, love, and joy to each and every one of you.
PS - I wrote that last night. Intentionally let it sit a while before posting.
Painted the following this morning. 24"x18" oil on canvas - titled "Accidental Heart"
Thoughts, dreams, questions.