Posts Tagged With: Fathers Day

Day 1631: See

See, I’ve already written several posts with the word “See” in the title (see Day 1354: See the love in everything, see Day 1245: What we choose to see, see Day 1202: Share how you see the world, and see Day 610: See the world). When I look at those previous posts, I see how my blogging style and choices have changed over the years. You might not see the differences, but I do.

See, the main reason I’m writing today’s “See” post is because yesterday I saw my friend Deb and we went to SEE in Harvard Square to seek new eyeglasses. See, Deb (who I’ve seen for about 50 years) and I  see eye-to-eye about many things, including  how great the frames are at SEE. Deb and I are a little concerned we won’t see each other as much when I move near the sea, but I see lots of fun times for us in the future.

Would you like to see the photos from SEE?





Do you see Christina in that last photo?  She works at SEE and is also a counseling and psychology graduate student at Lesley University. I could see a lot of great qualities in Christina that will serve her well when she sees clients in the future.

Would you like to see my other photos from yesterday?





Can you see “Happy Father’s Day” in that sign above?  I don’t get to see my late father any more, but it makes me happy to see him in this old photo of us.


I see that YouTube has this song, which I remember my father singing.

I’ll be seeing you in your comments, below.

See, I am very grateful to all who helped me see and share all the elements of this post and — of course! —  to you, for seeing my blog, here and now.

Categories: blogging, personal growth, photojournalism | Tags: , , , , , , | 27 Comments

Day 531: Long slow distance/Letter from home

Yesterday, while my son was at his keyboard lesson, I took a walk. The weather was overcast and threatening rain.

I meant to take my umbrella, but — these days — I often forget at least one little thing.

It didn’t matter. I had my iPhone and, therefore, my music with me.

Long Slow Distance, a tune I’ve loved for many decades, started playing.

I saw many things from different perspectives, as I walked away, got lost, and then made my way back to my son, in time.





As I re-approached the place where Aaron’s piano teacher lives and gives lessons, yesterday morning, the word “home” came into my mind.

Perhaps that was because Letter from Home — also beloved by me for many years — was playing.

That song speaks to me of loss. And love.

I miss my father, this Father’s Day.


Thanks to the Dixie Dregs, to Pat Metheny, to Anna Maria Jopek, to families everywhere, and to those who go long, slow distances — away from and toward home.  And thanks to you for your visit here, no matter where you are on your journey.


Categories: inspiration, Nostalgia, personal growth, photojournalism | Tags: , , , , , , , | 34 Comments

Day 167: Fathers Day

This is a difficult post for me to write. That’s because I believe I haven’t really dealt with my father’s death, 16 years later.

I talk to other people about the grieving process, and how it doesn’t have a particular time frame or correct course.

So I’m not even sure what I mean, when I write that I haven’t “really dealt with” his passing yet.

Here is something I’ve told other people, when there’s a goodbye:

The pain of the loss is a direct reflection of the importance of the connection.

People have told me they have found that a useful and helpful statement. I have found it helpful, too. But the pain of my father’s loss — according to that statement — would be huge. Maybe even unbearable.

My father’s death came after a long illness, so it wasn’t unexpected. At the same time, I never really believed that he would ever leave; so his absence is unexpected, every day.

People with certain beliefs might say that he has never left, so there is no need to grieve him with the full measure of pain.

And sometimes I do feel that he is present, and even watching over me.

However, I don’t get to interact with him, the way I used to. I don’t get to experience his humor, connection with others, musicality, thoughtfulness, quickness, joys, disappointments, and moment-to-moment reactions to life. I don’t get to see the expressions on his face and those on the faces of people interacting with him. (I know what delight looks like, on many different visages.)

And I miss all that, so much.

I’ve also said that my single regret about life — the one thing I could change, if I could — is that my father died three months before I got pregnant with my son. He never knew he had a grandson, and it’s such a loss that the two of them never got to meet and enjoy each other.

People with certain beliefs would say comforting words about that, too. And I’m open to the possibility that these comforting words are all true.

In any case, I’m so glad I got to have so many days on earth with my father.

And on this Fathers Day, I am very aware of this:

The pain of the loss is a direct reflection of the importance of the connection.

That pain is there, I know. And maybe it’s part of everything I am and do, today.

And I am grateful for its beautiful source.

Thanks for reading.

Categories: personal growth | Tags: , , | 3 Comments

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