Sunday Morning

Transitioning from sleep to consciousness to the cat meowing as my alarm - much better than my cell phone alarm. And going back to sleep. Waking up with the dog against my belly, my six year old at my feet, my 4 year old unconscious against my back inbetween Royce and me, Royce on the far side of the bed sleeping peacefully on Father's Day morning, and the cat curled up at the foot of the bed. Its a good way to wake up. Especially on Father's Day.
(Daddy's Little Girl - look at my little gloves.

Must have been Sabbath. I love this picture.)

I haven't had a sense of Sunday morning for a long time. The only time I talk about my past experiences with church its always about the Adventist church. But from ages 14 till 28 I attended a Baptist church every Sunday morning. I probably don't associate that church or people with "religion". They were family, and it was beautiful. And I miss them very much. But there was a sense of rest, of peace, of worship, of spirituality. Every Sunday morning. Which was always a refreshment after the day before. I woke up this morning and realized this is my church. My home. It is where I worship, it is my spiritual place. It is my Sacred Place. I need to keep this in mind. And now, with my new job, I will always have Sunday mornings. They are back.

(Walking me down the aisle, 1991)
Lately I have not been focused on my beliefs very well. I have let life get in the way. And I should be old enough to realize that when you let life get in the way of who you are and what you believe, then life suffers and doesn't go very well. I don't know why this has been hard for me to remember lately. So I need to get back to basics.

(Reading his Bible. In the house he built. Something he did every night. 1968ish.)

I did something stupid on Friday night, that led to more stupid things. Etc. etc. etc. So Friday night wasn't a good night. But it has made me reevaluate some things in my life. So, I will walk away from it at least mindful of things I need to change. Not just feeling bad and guilty. There are some changes that need to be made.

(Helping Tyler play my old piano. Wish he could see Tyler play now.)

I need to go see my dad today. I think the last time I saw him was on the anniversary of his death, September 8. I didn't go Thanksgiving, or Christmas, or his birthday. I'm not sure why. He has been on my mind lately. So I need to do that today. And will take Royce somewhere to eat, and let him have a nice relaxing day.

(Right before he got really sick)
I've led a pretty destructive life since my dad died. It has been on a down hill slide since then, at my choice. Alcohol, finances, family, time management, physically, sexually, spiritually, healthwise, job-wise. I think I'm finally coming out of it. I pulled Anne's badge out of my wallet the other day - over alcohol of course. And I started thinking again about what she looks like now. Its been almost 6 years. Bones? Skin? What level of decomposition? And her baby, where is it? In her arms? It would have fit in her hand. And what does it look like? Tissue? Bones? Eyes open? I guess they wouldn't be, she was only 20 weeks. I wonder if they dressed the baby. I forget what she named her. It says on her tombstone. And if anyone has any unresolved issues when they died, any reason to stay around, it is Anne. But I haven't felt her. It certainly wouldn't surprise me. I almost expect it. She was so beautiful.

(Grampa with Lauren and Cheyenne)
And I still wonder all these things about my dad. What does he look like now? I can still see his church suit that we burried him in. And what his face looked like at that point. And his big cold cold stiff pale white hands folded over his body. It didn't even feel human. Does he still look like that? Does he still have skin? Or does his face look like one of those half dead demon things in horror movies? Royce said he still has skin, because he was embalmed. Its still hard for me to believe that at the cemetary he is actually under there, 6 feet down. That its actully him laying under there. I didn't expect Father's Day to affect me like this. His birthday came and went June 4, and nothing like this.

I miss you Dad.

I'm going to get back to who I am Dad. I promise. I know you would want me to.

Happy Father's Day.

This is my favorite picture of him. On Camelback Mountain. 1985.