It’s a rare adoptee who would fit into the Either/Or category people like to paint us as, instead try seeing us as Both/And. Read the rest of this entry »
Tag Archives: dad
The word melancholy came into my mind this morning that seemed to explain how I’m feeling. When I looked up the definition to make sure it fit, the last definition does: a pensive mood. That’s how I feel, pensive. I’ve been pondering lately on what’s happening to this world, to humanity. I’ve mulled on both the current and the past, and then, with Senator John McCain’s passing all my feelings coalesced into this feeling of pensiveness. Read the rest of this entry »
And I think an open thread might be a good idea for those who just want a space to chat, whether it’s about the holidays past or present, or you just want to hang out with friends who get it. Talk about joy, sadness, hope, memories, favorite movies, what you’re doing, things that went right this year, even if you’re just feeling Bah Humbug or want to just say Hi and Merry Christmas to all. Read the rest of this entry »
It’s over, finally over, it’s also just beginning. I wish them well.
The post below was titled Father’s Day posted last June and delves into the back story with links…
Dad is often in my mind and this week has been no different. He didn’t suffer fools easily, had few words, but gave far more of himself to his family and community than he ever received in return. Now days, I think of him often when I read about the grief of infertility and how it is hard to go to baby showers, and see others create families without any apparent struggle.
I think of the grace and strength that dad had every single day, because you see, he was the man who delivered babies, many babies, over many decades, some at home, some in hospital.
When I was two, I fell down the stairs and landed face down on the cement floor of the basement. I lost a front tooth. I screamed, cried, and carried on until dad picked me up and carried me back up stairs. I have flash memories of falling down the stairs, hitting the floor, dad carrying me back up holding me on his left side. What dad was wearing is also part of that memory. Read the rest of this entry »
I’ve talked about dad often on the blog, and with today being Father’s Day, I tried to figure out what else I could say, that I haven’t already said. I mulled on this most of yesterday, had some thoughts, tossed them, mulled some more, and this morning I’m still not sure so here’s some of those thoughts from yesterday. Read the rest of this entry »
There’s a father whose been fighting for 8 years to parent his daughter. He’s had to fight in both Utah and Colorado courts. Can you imagine the heartache? The devastation? All the time lost? Every first he will never witness? The memories they should have made together? The emotional toll? And he’s still fighting.
This is a Father… Read the rest of this entry »
Although I haven’t shared my adoption story here, and likely won’t ever, I have shared parts in other places, and perhaps even here that I wasn’t happy when I came home. The reality was that for months on end, I screamed unless I was sleeping, or being rocked which helped in the moment, but one other action made me calm…
(not really adoption related)
Dad was a storyteller. He loved telling stories about his relatives, his dad, other people, things that had happened that he found interesting. All told with his slowly spoken words that highlighted his dry wit, they also included tiny little interesting tidbits woven in. I never stopped and wondered where his gift of storytelling came from, until I began going through grandpa’s last journal, an odd collection of deep thoughts, ramblings, intermixed with stories of yesteryear, and poems, then it became obvious that dad got his gift of storytelling from his dad.
This has no connection to adoption, except it’s about how I was raised – and Beth made me remember I had written this post…
Lately, my thoughts keep returning to my memories about a pair of stilts I had as a child. I don’t know how old I was when I received them, somewhere around middle childhood is my best guess. I was raised in a fairly frugal home, I’m sure my tricycle was a hand-me-down, and I know my first bike definitely was, but I don’t remember caring it wasn’t new, I had a bike!