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Year Four, Day 129: Letters to My Father

I wrote a letter to my father today.  I wasn't sure what I was going to say, but as I put the pen to the paper, the words appeared.

I talked about the beautiful warm, spring like day. And how I hoped he would get outside to see the flowers and hear the birds sing.

I told him how I went to the park yesterday with my daughter and granddaughter. My 20 month-old granddaughter who is the spitting image of her mother.  I asked him if he remembered her mother at that age. He was mesmerized by her from the moment she was born.

He didn't show love for me.  Perhaps it is that generation.  We weren't hugged or told that we were loved. But as I wrote to him I realized what an impact he made on not only my life, but countless others. 

My father taught me to play the piano. I was only three years old.  He taught me on an old upright piano in our small living room. I was so tiny, I had to sit on a Sears catalog to reach the keys. The keyboard was missing some of the ivory.  He had taken a crayon on written the names of the notes on the keys.

I learned to read music about the same time I learned to read.  It came easily to me.  

And although I had enormous stage fright, I have pretty much overcome it now.  I told my father that because of him, hundreds, maybe close to a thousand people have learned to play the piano, including members of our own family.  Including my mother, my daughter, my son, my nieces and my granddaughter.

It is all because of him.

I hope that if he looks back on his life, he will feel that he was important.

My mother called after I wrote the letter. And after I contacted other family members encouraging them to write letters to my father.  I plan on compiling them into a scrap book as soon as he has seen them. So he has something to look at when he sits in his chair.  I also included some pictures of my kids and my granddaughter.

When I see my mother's number come up on my cell phone these days, my heart races. I imagine her telling me my father is gone.

He is still here. And having a good day apparently! My mother told me he was perky today, talkative and walking unattended.

I exhaled relief. But I am still mailing my letter today. I have played the piano for too many memorial services where the family is sobbing, telling fond stories of the deceased, wishing they had spent more time with them. 

I do not wish to have those regrets.  So we are creating a celebration of life for my father. While he is still here.

I wish I had thought of this sooner!

Happy Tuesday!

Love,

Zita




P.S. Here is today's hooping video. I didn't make it to the park. My allergies are in full bloom. So you still have the back porch view.  Day 58. 




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