(family) the delight of a father-is in the doing

(or the lament of Time)

It has been said that children spell love with: T-I-M-E

I had experienced an amazing occurrence last year,

right about this same time. My eldest son caught himself in a place

not to be desired and needed some time with his Father.

This is a normal human dynamic, though not extraordinary, it was to be.

See, the feelings one will store, like an old farmer whose crops did not yield; fearing for his family and the winter to come, can be lost in the hollows of a broken heart. It is a fathers nature to father, just like it is one’s nature for a tree to be tall, or a duck to return to its young or a marshmallow to taste sweet.

Simply put, with Kody home, all of the stars of my heart were in line once again. Not to say that time spent with mother was ill-fitting; on the contrary, it was best-fitting. (he was where he needed to be at the time he needed to be)

With that journey’s course run, I am left with the lament of a heart longing to be united with it’s purpose, once more. It is rather hard to describe the melancholy of relationship that occurs from the unraveling of two; nay four lives, weaved so seemingly tight: you can still see the tears at the ends. One could gather a pile of rags and lineaments and neatly hang them out to dry; they would still be their resembled selves: the once to-gether assembly of fine linen.

This journey has in it elements of rejoice and lament. To gather and experience one without the other is, in essence, to not have any of either. We need both to find the balance between the natural and (dare I say it?!), the super-natural.