Wednesday, October 7, 2015

"There Could Never Be a Father Who Loved His Daughter More Than I Love You"...Another Bittersweet Post on Mortality.

I was doing some housework while my iTunes played on shuffle, and when this gem of a song came on, I felt inclined to stop what I was doing, and write. So, here I am.

Stephanie Rose Photography

"Father And Daughter" by Paul Simon

If you leap awake
In the mirror of a bad dream
And for a fraction of a second
You can't remember where you are
Just open your window
And follow your memory upstream
To the meadow in the mountain
Where we counted every falling star
I believe a light that shines on you
Will shine on you forever
And though I can't guarantee
There's nothing scary hiding under your bed
I'm gonna stand guard like a postcard
of a Golden Retriever
And never leave till I leave you
With a sweet dream in your bed

I'm gonna watch you shine
Gonna watch you grow
Gonna paint a sign
So you'll always know
As long as one and one is two,
There could never be a father who loved
His daughter more than I love you

Trust your intuition
It's just like goin' fishin'
You cast your line and hope you get a bite
You don't need to waste your time
Worryin' about the market place;
Try to help the human race
Strugglin' to survive its' harshest night 

((Disclaimer, this is the song my sister and daddy danced to at her wedding, almost exactly one year ago on 10.18.14))
There is a very special relationship between dads and their daughters. My sister and I idolize our dad. We think he hung the moon. And I see the way Lilah clings to George, and I know she already feels the same way I do about my daddy. Sometimes, during days when I'm home and G is at work, LG will tell me, "I miss my dad." In those instances, we'll call him up just to tell him. I'm grateful that we can just call him up. Is it just me, or does parenthood make everybody else acutely aware of our mortality?

I have friends who have lost their dads. My heart aches for them. It is complete and utter bullshit that there are good people who die young while octogenarians who have been convicted of child molestation and murder continue to live behind bars. I feel like saying "life isn't fair" is such a gross understatement. 

The only thing that gives me hope, is witnessing that life goes on outside of these bodies we are given. I don't believe in a traditional Heaven with an old Father figure named God, puffy clouds, and a list of names VIP style for who gains entry. But I do believe the soul is eternal, and energy can't be destroyed.

I attended the most gorgeous, thoughtful, every-detail-was-perfect-this-will-rule-on-Pinterest, wedding this month. The beautiful bride lost her father a few years ago. I remember when he passed away. I felt like there were no words I could say, still having my daddy, to my friend in her grief. All I remember sharing with her, was that butterflies are my favorite symbol, and I hoped for her that the butterfly trinket I gave her would remind her that her dad was around in a new, even more beautiful and omnipresent form. After this exchange of words, she told me her dad also loved butterflies, and this was a special thing the two of them had. 

What I'm about to type will sound like fiction, but know that with every fiber in my being I promise this is true:

When this gorgeous bride and groom were saying their vows outside on the most beautiful day I'd seen all year, there was a big butterfly fluttering around her. 

I'm literally tearing up as I type this! I promise this is real.

George and I were sitting toward the back, many pews ((yes, outdoor wedding in the woods, with vintage church pews, I'm telling you, the wedding was so dreamy)) away from the newlyweds, but I saw that butterfly. Her dad was there. Of course he was. The toasts made later during the reception were so moving. His legacy was honored, and his presence was palpable.


Surprisingly, many people have asked George if he was "disappointed" that we were having another girl, or if we are going to "try for that boy." He's not disappointed. We aren't "trying for a boy." We feel sorry for the people asking the question, because clearly they don't know the magic that exists between a daddy and a daughter. We know it firsthand, and we are so excited to get to experience that twice.

Greer Inez Photography

Parenthood is a trip. These little people depend on us for their every need. I can't wait to hold our brand new, fresh from Spirit, baby girl, and I can't wait to change her diapers, and give her milk for every meal, and rock her until she falls peacefully to sleep. This time will be sacred and precious, and I'm counting down the days!

Greer Inez Photography

And simultaneously, I want to cling to my parents. I want to savor their health, their life, their time with me while I have them. My parents are young, but we just don't know what the future holds. I hope they live to be over 100 years old in the most perfect health, and then pass on peacefully in their sleep at the same time holding hands. That's how I want to go out with my man. The day after we complete everything on our Bucket List together.

I know as a society, we fear aging and being helpless and dependent. But I want my parents to know that if ever a day comes when I need to feed them, change them, rock them peacefully to sleep, I will be just as honored to love them in the way they loved me when I came into the world. When this little baby enters our lives in December, I'm not going to think, "God, what a burden. I can't believe I have to feed her again." Time will stand still when I give her what she needs. Our eyes will lock, and no words will be necessary. I'll see her soul, and she'll see mine. And my hope is that when//if I have similar experiences with my parents, they'll know that I'm just as honored to love them in this capacity. 

And if my parents are taken swiftly from me, I hope they know just how much I love them, and how much I've needed them, and that adjusting to life without their physical form will be the hardest thing I'll have to endure up to that point. It's what I fear most...losing my people. My mom lost her mother ((unexpectedly)) when she was 9 months pregnant with my sister. She was 27 years old. When I put myself in her shoes, I feel panicky.


Stephanie Rose Photography ((03.24.2012))

Stephanie Rose Photography ((03.24.2012))

The song that inspired this post belongs to my sister and dad. But when I hear the opening lyrics, I have now considered it from both perspectives. The parent taking care of the child, and the child taking care of the parent. It makes me tear up thinking about it. Not because I don't want to, but because I just want to freeze time so damn bad. I want to live forever in this middle place, where I have my babies, and my parents. 

Ultimately, I'm grateful for love, because I'd much rather carry this fear of losing my people, than not know what it was like to love someone so much. 

I'm grateful for this weekend, when the people I love most will all be in a cabin in the woods for a weekend away together. Memories are going to be made, and I'll be sure to photograph + document it, so I have the chance to re-live it in another blogpost, scrapbook, or sleepless night when I am flipping through my iPhone. 

Excuse the somewhat emotional and morbid blogpost, I'm 28 weeks pregnant, and a grown woman. I do what I want.