I had the honor of attending my godsister's wedding this past weekend in Jersey. Wonderful to celebrate Janel's marriage to her longtime love, Carlo, as well as be with so many of my parents' oldest friends, whose children with whom I'd grown up and are extended family cousins and whose parents we've known since they were single! The most overwhelming moment for me was the oh so lovely choreographed father-daughter dance to Barry White's "My first, my last, my everything." I stood captivated by Janel and Uncle John's moment. Simply happy. With every unsuccessful effort to hold back a surge, I found my way through the crowd to the table and grabbed my dinner napkin.
memories run breathlessly
i grasp for my Dad, we are not really there anymore
yet delighted in a suspended moment
of gratitude for what was
once again love revvs me up
loosens the blubbering from deep within
bittersweet am i against which nothing can be done
except let go
Having not stayed in my Mom's home since Dad died almost 11 years ago, I paged through photo albums on a mission to hunt for my Holy Communion pictures, so I could share them with N. since she'll be doing the same next spring. I dug through more than 50 years of photos looking for the turquoise album with a golden diamond design etched on the cover, whose cellophaned sleeves were folded in threes . . . and finally found it.
