…you will be the young man tending the garden…

...the young man tending the garden...

…the young man tending the garden…


Nine years have passed since I last saw my dad alive. When I left his house that day, I knew I would never see him again. My soul actually hurt. My soul hurts again today. It’s raw, like it was that day. That’s when I did my mourning. When I knew I’d never see him again. I miss him everyday of course, but today…today, the feeling of loss is almost overwhelming. I know I won’t feel like this everyday, but for now the intensity of how much I miss him burns white hot.

We’ll see where this takes us…




Thoughts for today

my dad (taken by 3 year old patrick)

my dad (taken by 3 year old patrick)

I saw my dad for the last time a little over eight years ago. When I left his house that day, I knew I’d never see him again. As we backed our car out of the driveway, I just sobbed from somewhere deep in my soul. I got the call that he’d died late on November 27th.

I miss the warmth in his voice. I miss the out of control laugh. I miss him yelling at the Browns. I miss the knowledge he had about so many things. I miss his delicious ribs. I miss his uncanny ability to give directions from anywhere to anywhere.

The last time I saw him, he said, “Oh Lisa, you’re here.” So, he knew. He knew I was there. I told him I’d see him on the other side. I would be the little girl in the yellow dress, and he would be the young man tending to the garden.

We’ll see where this takes us…



I took a short trip this morning

In the back yard of the house on Anita Drive

In the back yard of the house on Anita Drive

Early this morning as I walked outside, the slightly humid breeze seemed to transport me, just for the briefest instant, back about 45 years. The sunshine and the smell of the air landed me square in our backyard on Anita Drive. The thing is, I really felt for that blink of an eye, that I was actually there.

It was the beginning of the seemingly endless summer vacation. Long days spent playing with neighborhood friends, riding our bikes, swimming in the neighbor’s pool, or just making mud pies. Laundry was on the line.The grownups sat in the metal “S” chairs, smoking Chesterfield no-filters and visiting. The garden was beginning to bloom.

For one fleeting moment, I was once again the little girl in the yellow dress, and the young man was tending the garden.

We’ll see where this takes us…



White hot

There are many things I didn’t understand until I became a mom. One of them is the white hot intensity with which I love my children. To say I was blown away by this feeling, would be a gross understatement.

I never knew until that moment, how my own mother felt about me. While I missed her before, it wasn’t until then, that I really, truly understood what I was missing.

We’ll see where this takes us…


Not enough

My mom died in August of 1973. By the end of that year, my dad was remarried. Let that sink in… just less than five months…

There was hardly time to mourn. How DOES a child do that anyway? Is it important to keep traditions…Or is it wise to change things up? Is it a good idea to share stories… Or should we avoid “living in the past”?

After my dad married, it quickly became evident that sharing stories was not a good idea. For what ever reason, the woman who married US could not handle hearing tales of our family’s life that included our mom. We were told that we were “living in the past”. In fact, any mention of life as it was before, resulted in a rather large tantrum…that could last for days.

It didn’t take long for us to learn. Oh, someone would slip up every once in a while. Of course, it was thought to have been done on purpose. At least on my end, it wasn’t. I gave up most of the memories I might have had of my mother for this woman. That’s a lot to ask, no? I learned too late, it wasn’t enough.

We’ll see where this takes us…

Just a fact

So. I’ve already lived most of my life. I know what you’re thinking… How depressing… You’re still young… Why would you say something like that?!

It’s no big deal, really… It’s just a fact.

Yeah, the speed at which time passes startles me. Maybe more than I really care to admit. Where DID the time go? How did I get from here…

My dad and me  October 1962

My dad and me
October 1962

…to where I am? I LOVE my life. Now. That was not always true.The thing is, all of our experiences, good and bad, make us who we are. What would you go back and change if you could? What would be the consequences? Would a small thing make an enormous difference… Or, would a really big thing, change little?

So much to ponder… We’ll see where this takes us…