Kiddy Diddy

Meditation: Reducing Tightness, six minutes (morning)

Each year now, I have more friends that have lost their parents. Many fathers and some mothers have died. We are at that age. It has made my relationship with the holidays that celebrate our parents precarious. The days have become performative on social media in which many of us deliver post after post about our time with our moms and dads. And those for whom those days are hard, quietly suffer through the notifications.

I didn’t see my dad on Father’s Day. My sister took him to lunch while I went to a basketball game. We’re a busy family of grown folks with wildly conflicting schedules. My mother is in Norway. She’s often away on holidays and birthdays and the like. We make it work. And yet, I’m feeling tension, mostly of my own making, about what I do and don’t do. Where I wasn’t. Who I’m not.

That’s futile. Instead, let’s focus on who I am. I love my father. He’s a good man. I hope for him all the peace and joy in the world. The person I am would be different without the role he’s played in my life. And I like me. Most of the time, anyway.

And for those for whom this past weekend was tough: I wish for you all the peace and joy in the world as well.

Some celebrations come with tears.

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