My heart goes out to you, Jenn. My dad died in 2006 and I still tear up from time to time when I think about it. I wrote about the artist/musician Nick Cave in my latest Substack and he has written extensively on grief in his advice/column newsletter, The Red Hand Files. Someone had written to him about missing their dad, and Nick wrote the most beautiful reply that I'll share here in honor of our dads: "We each have our reserves of sorrow that rise to the surface, provoked by one little thing or another, to remind us we are human and that we love and that we are a part of the great human story that flows along the ancient waterways of our collected and historical griefs. This breaking down is not something from which we need to be saved or cured, but rather it is the toss and tumble of life, and the occasional losing of oneself to the sadness of things is an honouring of life itself. It signal not just your implicit existential participation, but that you just really loved your dad, and it’s sad he’s not around, and that, my friend, is not a feeling from which you need to be healed. In fact, quite the opposite; all of us, as contributors to the human enterprise, reserve the right indefinitely to capsize on occasion, in the name of those we loved and lost."
That’s really beautiful. Such a good reminder of the delicate balance of grief. Allowing ourselves to feel all the things we need to feel, yet somehow managing not to get lost in the loss. ♥️
Beautiful essay for your dad. I do believe our passed loved ones visit us. Hope you feel his presence today.
Love the homemade knives.
My heart goes out to you, Jenn. My dad died in 2006 and I still tear up from time to time when I think about it. I wrote about the artist/musician Nick Cave in my latest Substack and he has written extensively on grief in his advice/column newsletter, The Red Hand Files. Someone had written to him about missing their dad, and Nick wrote the most beautiful reply that I'll share here in honor of our dads: "We each have our reserves of sorrow that rise to the surface, provoked by one little thing or another, to remind us we are human and that we love and that we are a part of the great human story that flows along the ancient waterways of our collected and historical griefs. This breaking down is not something from which we need to be saved or cured, but rather it is the toss and tumble of life, and the occasional losing of oneself to the sadness of things is an honouring of life itself. It signal not just your implicit existential participation, but that you just really loved your dad, and it’s sad he’s not around, and that, my friend, is not a feeling from which you need to be healed. In fact, quite the opposite; all of us, as contributors to the human enterprise, reserve the right indefinitely to capsize on occasion, in the name of those we loved and lost."
That’s really beautiful. Such a good reminder of the delicate balance of grief. Allowing ourselves to feel all the things we need to feel, yet somehow managing not to get lost in the loss. ♥️
Jenny I might try out one of these recipes today!
Take care and know your Dad had a sweet place in his heart for you. Take care and hope to get you over here one day!
I hope you get a chance to bake something! Let me know if you do. Tell Dave we love him and Happy Father’s Day from us!