This year I was moved to write a poem to My Father.
Read my poem here.
Happy Father’s Day,
died tomorrow, twenty five years ago.
What a big soul, scared baby and complicated father.
With the voice of a clear bell he longed to sing for others.
Yet he had no voice as a father,
could not teach me how to live,
could not guide me in the world.
His silent love, however, gave me something much more fundamental.
It not only kept me alive,
it touched my heart deeply,
it taught me about real love,
One morning early in June, at 86, he died peacefully,
after that Saturday when I last visited him,
and had gone home to write the guest list for his funeral.
He lay on the floor,
me sitting next to him,
one quarter of a century ago,
waiting for the undertakers.
It was timeless time,
Tears rolling down as waterfalls.
My dear, very dear, sweet father
It was very hard to say goodbye.
I talked non-stop to him.
I promised us I would carry on where he couldn’t.
I told him how I would learn to hold the fear and live the love!
How I would have my voice
with myself, the universe, all of life,
how I would thrive in life and help others.
Now 25 years after his death
I’m with him on the floor again.
Why now? Why this year?
After my new hip, after so many hard days and nights,
after such agony.
I hear something like this:
I love you very much. I really love you and always have and know you love me.
I also hated you very much.
I fell all the way down the cold, empty well you knew so well
and I got found again.
I am no longer afraid of life, Daddy Dear,
I found my voice,
I found life walking, holding our very wounded self.
It’s a new day.
A new beginning.
It’s time to dance and sing and live "the full catastrophe"
from aliveness, awareness, and possibility.
The circle is much larger!
Your loving daughter,
Lynda Klau, June 7th, 2019