of hawks and harsh realities

My dad died near three years a go. I've written of the saga before, but it's a very real reality I face everyday.

My dad is dead. Period.

I have dreams sometimes that we've been dealing with his estate only to discover he is still alive. And I'm so happy and upset that I sold his house and found new homes for his dogs.

And there are days, often early in the morning that I reach for my phone to call him. To get his advice on how to deal with my water heater or how to deal with my two year old. But then I realize...He's dead.

That moment he exhaled his last breath on that snowy Sunday afternoon, I longed to go where he was. It's not that I wanted to die. I just wanted to know that where he went, wherever that was, he was not lonely and that he was safe.

I still want to know this...

But my better judgement, my beliefs always had me skeptical. I had a hard time wrapping my head around an after life, heaven and hell...

But then my dad died and I've longed to know that he went somewhere and is waiting for us. That his energy surrounds the ones he loves. And all I can do is put faith in this, even though, honestly, I am conflicted on this topic.

My dad always had a thing with hawks. I remember him holding one in the front yard of our Los Angeles suburb. A bird of pray perched on his arm. In a city. Since his death, I spot hawks just when I seem to need his encouragement.

Whether this is his energy remains to be seen. Will always be that way. But for now, this little girl thinks it's her daddy telling her everything is ok.



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