On Value

The card  from Dad arrived in the mail today, a note from Big Bro on the back. The card within will be one of Dad's famous "action cards" that either spring out some cartoon form or make some noise like last years. . Police Siren  "PUT THE CANDY DOWN!"

What was  scrawled across the back of the envelope in Big Bro's handwriting, but still him, with his little signature "Bull" face (his nickname), is "Still up at 7:30 every day after chasing Rommel across AFRICA!  What a Hero, WWII Vet.  OUR Dad!!

These cards, these notes. It's a ritual that's gone on 50 years.  It is one I will so miss, for it offers that steady comfort of routine that has become, with time, the liturgy of our lives.

What is it about certain things, perhaps certain people, that make you realize what's important, that make you feel safe?

Is it the abiding strength?  That which radiates from within, a calm and unflinching repose when problems arise? Is it that which cloaks itself with outward trappings and values that have withstood generations, that bone deep integrity that makes you feel at peace in the company thereof?

Is it wisdom?  Not just that wisdom based on years, that time when youth and wanting are said to be behind you, even as that final breath is drawn in with the want of another, but that which comes with knowing what you stand for, then owning it. 

Is it commitment?  That pinky promise/blood oath of childhood in the guise of an adult, that bond, that betrothal that is worthy of the word by its history. It's not summoned or bartered or held hostage.  It's there, like flowers that bloom each year, their scent spread with the rain, so when the heavens open up to flood your world, their presence is upon you, like warm, steady breath.

Is it a look? One that has weight to it, a look that has such depth that you feel you could hold it in your hand? Is it a form? One that stays strong, even when tested, the little nicks and scuffs, simply the marks of battles fought and overcome. It's all that and more. It's the promise of dependability, sublime yet infinite, that carries you in its company from the evocable past to the continuing present.

Is it a name?  Father, brother, husband, wife, daughter, son.  If you are blessed, it is a name that you can see take shape, one that you can say until the name solidifies into something tangible, a form you can hold on to, remaining even after the air goes silent and the form is nothing but an empty doorway, framed in the fading light of Glory.

If you're lucky you will have that. If you lose it, mourn its passing. If you find it, never let it go.

- Brigid