Perspective

Yesterday marked the 9^th anniversary of my father’s death. While I wasn’t completely devoid of emotion, I didn’t run the gamut of feelings (as I am prone to do). If you were to ask me last week, however, I would have told you a different story. Nine years still hasn’t lessened the hole I feel without my dad here, but I do have a greater appreciation for him as a person.

I know as time goes by I remember less and less of the truly horrible aspects of my childhood. I think that’s God’s gift to me. Perhaps I’m making a more concerted effort to hold on those wonderful memories of my father. There really isn’t a day that goes by that I’m not reminded of him in some small way. I hear a song or catch a line of a movie he loved and I instantly remember him—his smile or his infectious laugh.

I have a picture sitting on my bedroom dresser—my parents on their honeymoon. They look so young and happy. I like to think at one time they truly were happy and so full of possibilities. What happened along the way in their lives resembled nothing even close to the look of hope on their faces. The picture is a reminder to me and gives me perspective—we don’t always get what we want out of life (and I am learning that isn’t always a bad thing). My parents wanted the best for my sister and I and they weren’t able to see that fulfilled during their lifetime. Not that I’m where I need to be by any means, but this year I am definitely closer.

I miss you MOTO.