As a child growing up in Montana, I imagined my cowboy grandpa’s life to be as inspiring and majestic as the mountains around me. I was wrong.
It’s sad that so many of us in the U.S. – and especially in Seattle – live so far away from our families, our parents, our loved ones. That’s why spending time with my widowed mom means so much to me, here for Christmas in Wisconsin.
These loved ones, our dead. Does healing ever begin? Is that deep hole always there? They say time heals, but I’m not so sure. In these strange moments, in everyday moments, he pops up. ‘Hello there.’
I can’t get no satisfaction. I grew up wanting more, and why not? It was my culture. Even the Rolling Stones’ Mick Jagger wailed dissatisfaction over a girl dissatisfied with him. But why? Blame it on TV…
February 18, 2012. A year, how can it be? Gone.
We, his children, dig his grave and bury him – our father.
[PLEASE NOTE: I’M IN THE PROCESS OF MIGRATING FROM ONE SITE TO ANOTHER; PHOTOS, TEXT, FONTS ARE ALL OVER THE PLACE! PLEASE BEAR WITH ME DURING THESE CHANGES — THANKS!–HH]…