Like my father was, I am an early riser and I appreciate the gifts of nature. It's not a stretch then to say that I think of him every morning when I'm walking or at the park with Cheyenne. Some mornings my thoughts are as aimless as a stroll, mild and pleasant recollections. And other mornings, as this one, I have stronger or more purposeful thoughts, building in a direction.
There is a list that has planted itself in my mind, and it's growing. The list is of the things I learned from Dad, sentences he spoke to me over and over again so that they became my own thoughts, or things I garnered from observing him and the examples he set. Not huge patentable secrets of knowledge but small solid beliefs he imparted upon me and now I find are my own. Beliefs such as plant trees, and fly the flag. I've been jotting them down and this growing list is now taking over two pages in my notebook. I don't think it's a list that can ever be finished because I keep recalling more with each day. Is this part of grieving, I wonder? A step in the process where the mind culls through all the memories for solid pieces on which to grab hold? I'm not sure but I do know that, although not earth shattering knowledge, these solid pieces of recollection are enormously comforting to me. He may no longer be here, but he left so very much behind.
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