Fathers Day

This is my dad. 

My dad

Yes, I take after him :-) 

Daddy's Girl

He passed away in 1998 and I miss him everyday. The grief never really goes away. You try not to dwell upon it constantly. You eventually learn to think of happy memories when you think of them. 

One of my happy memories of my dad is when he would return from an out-of-town work trip.  In his shirt pocket, there would be a 5 Star candy bar .  As soon as we heard him or saw him at the door, we girls would run up to him and he would lift one of us (whoever got there first) into his arms. I remember many an occasion of grabbing that 5 star candy bar out of his shirt pocket, a pile of joyous giggles.

Since there was always just one candy bar, we sisters had to share. Dad made sure that I divided it and that my sister got to pick. Although I was his favorite, fairness was ensured.

On May 24, which happens to be my dad's birthday, I was telling this shirt pocket and candy bar story to Paul when the Uvalde news broke.  

It was heartbreaking. As details emerged, it only got worse and worse.  How the law enforcement failed the community, how the politicians continued to offer empty platitudes, while making sure their interests are protected and pockets well-lined. The world condemned the shooting, the nation grieved, and most of us moved on.

But I was stuck on all the empty shirt pockets that will never hold a candy bar. 

Shirt Pockets

This is the thing about grief. It is debilitating. It affects you physically. It drains you of all energy and the will to move. I made this quilt to process my feelings. 

In my backyard

Made of old shirt pockets, emptied. I ironed it and basted the pocket openings shut to avoid the creases. Eventually I had to accept the fact that grief is messy and uneven and full of creases and so this quilt will be. 

Messy and Creased

I removed most buttons to ease the quilting process. But four buttons from two pockets were stubborn and I could not remove them without tearing the fabric.  I maneuvered around them.  

Maneuvering around the buttons

I imagined that one of the Uvalde dads works in IT, one works in a factory, some like red and orange, most prefer blue but some prefer muted khaki or plain white. They may have seen each other at the Honor Roll meeting or shared the room at the PTA event. But now all they share is their emptiness.

Stitched Together in Grief

My dad was 53 when he passed away. His death was untimely but he was lucky that all his children outlive him. The Uvalde dads were not. Their grief is unfathomable.  I cannot do anything to lessen their pain or ease their journey. But this is my attempt to acknowledge their grief as I process my own.   

Beautiful Day, Plain Quilt

Paul: What will you do with this quilt?
Me: What can I do with this quilt? It is too plain and too meaningful.
Paul: You should keep it.
Me: For dad?
Paul: For all dads.

I will be sharing with all my favorite linky parties. See full list on the sidebar.  If this post has struck a chord with you, feel free to share it. No permission required.

I am managing my grief. But I am also experiencing despair at what has happened and continues to happen (mass shootings continued after Uvalde). I am disgusted at what does not happen, because a handful of politicians choose personal gains over public wellbeing. 

If you have children (or grandchildren), how do you gather the courage to send them to school day after day? More importantly, won't you consider how your vote affects their safety?