A few nights
ago I wandered upstairs and noticed my oldest son sitting at the table with the
lights dimmed and the Christmas music on.
The song that was playing was the hymn O HOLY NIGHT. I wanted to
tell him that my dad (his grandfather) loved that song more than any other. It always moved him to tears in our little
church in my hometown. Now it does the
same to me and I’m sometimes afraid to be that vulnerable, even with my
son. And yet I know that he would
understand because he’s heard countless stories about the kind, gentle-spirited
grandfather that loved him, but died when he was just six months old.
Today a
friend and I were talking about the passage of time and how it almost seems
sometimes like even memorable events of the past don’t seem quite real. It’s hard to explain, and maybe some of us reflect
on those things more than others. I just know that this time of year music and
the thought of loved ones that have left us make a deep imprint on the heart,
in a way that’s almost indescribable.
Remembering
my dad, I’ve included a photo of him with his grandson Kai, at two months
old. It’s the only picture we have of
the two of them.
The other photo is of a beautiful little chapel near the Crystal River in Wisconsin. My dad would have loved it.
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