“Today I saw dad over the small flat square at our house in the sky telling me we are all going to be okay…you will always be his child… forever we are his special people.” – my sister after a trip out to the the house where we grew up.
From time to time, people will ask me to pray for them. Or their child. Or a loved one.
I always say that I will.
And I do.
But I pray to something – someone – different than most people do.
When I ask for help, or guidance, or good thoughts…I talk to my dad.
Growing up, we weren’t very religious. We were raised Jewish but never belonged to a temple. My father and my aunt were our religious teachers, holding family Hebrew school classes in our backyard or around the dining room table. My father thought it was important that all three of his kids have a Bar or Bat Mitzvah, but he was the one to preside over them, not a rabbi. We read sections from the Torah as well as portions of Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have A Dream” speech. He practiced with us in the evenings and while we played outside. He was very sick with pancreatic cancer when my sister turned thirteen, yet he still insisted on not only going forward with her Bat Mitzvah but presiding over it. We set up a tent in the backyard, invited family and friends, and celebrated her special moment.
The concept of God came up quite a bit while growing up, of course. I believed there was a higher power because I loved the idea of it all. My father was clearly agnostic. We would have constant debates about the subject, as I would say there was no way for him to know there wasn’t one and he would reply with “How do you know the frog in the pond doesn’t control the universe?” The conversation never had an end, of course, but it spoke to the very core of his views on religion. He loved the history and traditions and family connections of Judaism yet was skeptical of the idea of God and blind faith.
I believed in faith and fate and the beauty of the idea that someone was guiding my hand.
I still do.
But now I believe that the someone guiding my hand is my dad.
His light comes to me in amazing places. as my sister said, the warmth that comes during a time of severe pain, and I know that he is there.
And now, when I am at a loss as to how to help my boys, I look out the window and talk to him.
It is my father that I ask to give me the strength to get through the moments that leave me on the sobbing on the floor of the shower.
And when we make it through those moments, it is him that I thank for helping me through.
I asked for his guidance when marrying Tim.
The rainbow that appeared during a snow flurry at my wedding showed me he was there.
The rainbow appeared just after this…right above the sheep…
I watch the relationships grow between Tim and our boys. I watch him teach our kids about politics and car engines and life.
Robots with Dad
It is a scene so familiar and so lovingly honest and true. My boys adore their dad and rely on him to feed their love of learning and life.
I pray every night for my family. I pray that we will stay healthy and strong and continue to love one another in the best way that we can.
I still believe in God. But I turn to my dad when I pray.
I am so very grateful to have someone I know answering my prayers.
Happy Father’s Day to my husband who every day does more than 30% times three.
And Happy Father’s Day to my dad who I still miss very much…thirteen Father’s Days later.
“You gotta talk to the one who loves you
Talk to the one who understands
Talk to the one who gave you
All the light in your eyes
All the light in your eyes
Yeah, thank you, thank you
Yeah, everything great and small
Yeah, thank you, thank you
For the light in your eyes” – Light In Your Eyes by Sheryl Crow
June 17, 2012 at 6:22 am
A beautiful tribute to your Dad and husband. Hope it’s a wonderful fathers day🙂 x
June 17, 2012 at 6:22 am
Dear Alysia,
thank you. This is, without doubt, the most beautiful thing you have ever written.
I still talk to my father, too. My biological father died when I was four years old. I barely knew him.
But it brings a strange sense of comfort to speak to him when I feel the need.
Just, well, thank you. Thank you. I type this with tears of longing and loss and bittersweet love in my eyes, and a huge sense of love for you, who I have never met, but who once again, with incredible eloquence and grace, has given me the sweet gift of being not alone.
Thank you.
June 17, 2012 at 8:23 am
My eyes are leaking after reading this beautiful piece, my friend. Wishing Tim a very happy Father’s Day, too!
June 17, 2012 at 8:48 am
A beautiful Father’s Day tribute. There is someone up above.
June 17, 2012 at 8:51 am
Such a beautiful tribute to your father and husband. My eyes are misting…hope you all have a wonderful day.
June 17, 2012 at 1:46 pm
I remember that poignant Bat Mitzvah & felt so very privileged to be there. I remember watching your Dad, whom I adored, sitting in a chair under the tent watching his sweet Emily while she posed for picture after picture. Knowing how much he loved you all & didn’t want to leave you was breaking my heart at that moment. And yet, you are so right, he really did not, could not, would not ever really leave you. His love is way to real & strong for that to ever happen. You are all right to seek his guidance still, as it too is real and just as wise, if not wiser, than ever. Love to you all today & every day. Happy Father’s Day to your husband & to your amazing Dad & my dear friend.
June 19, 2012 at 9:30 am
Do you ever watch that show, Long Island Medium? My husband thinks I’m nuts for watching it but I love that show, how she talks to people who have crossed over. See, when our son died I knew, just knew, he was out there. And what she says gives me hope and reaffirms what I know—that at certain times he’s there watching, looking and loving.
Big hugs to you.
xxoo