Pick up the Pen.

My grampa told me there is not much he could do, he had been through this twice. He is speaking of living through the death of my Uncle Steve and then the death of my gramma. He said that the pain is unthinkable and one day you wake up and throw your legs over the bed and realize you are still breathing, still here. That is when you realize it is time to start living again.

My father passed away yesterday morning.

It seems like five years ago, it seems like it never happened at all.

I sit here pondering if this is the ending of a life or a chapter or an era and realize that it is much more cyclical. For from this event my father has possibly launched my writing career, a better relationship with my family and shown my two wayward 20 something sons that it is time to grow up. For what he could not articulate in his life he will guide in his death, the very love he has for all of us.

My youngest son was going to school and working part-time. It was not working out for him as he has two young children to raise and finally he came to the realization that he needed to work full-time. He had been looking for a job and looking.

Today he and I went all over town and just happened to stop at a new construction site. The guy at trailer told him to read the sign at the door, they were no longer hiring. He came out not dejected but still determined. Out the door comes a guy yelling and asking if my son needed a job. The next thing I know my son is at a job site talking with this same man and the foreman. I watch from a distance. I see a posture I know. It is not that I see my Dad there but I see the workings of the man there, as I have seen a million times before in my life. My son got the job.