As you know I found this to be an exquisite share and piece of writing James. The blurry view of your dad through the windshield was in complete contrast to the clear and revealing detail of his character in your storytelling. He was in focus the whole time, and as is the beauty with memoir, that focus is preserved for you and your family to forever enjoy.
Rick, Thank you pal, and thank you for your purposeful hands while the essay was on the clay wheel being sculpted. Your feedback and suggestions were invaluable, and helped me move forward to completion with confidence. I'm so grateful.
James, this astonishes me. The power of a story this well-written knows no bounds, I’m thinking.
What a role model he must’ve been. What a moving glimpse into how you became the person you are through such a fine man’s guidance, even in his last days. What a beautiful man, a profoundly caring soul, touching so many lives. Same as you, I imagine.
You’re a wonderful writer. Thanks for publishing this. It’s remarkable.
Kathy, all morning, I’ve pondered what you wrote here and can’t really come up with a reply, other than to say thank you. Thank you for reading, and for seeing what kind of man my father is, and what kind of man I keep aspiring to be. He was a wonderful role model indeed.
You know that piece I’ve been telling you I’ve been writing about my dad? This isn’t it. This one has been rolling around in my head for three years and it started knocking at the floorboards of me after my mom passed and wouldn’t leave me alone. I’m glad it’s out there in the world so that others can learn from his lesson too.
Thank you also for the words about how my writing lands on you. As one I’m journeying with in our writing community, it’s my aim to try and get better in new ways with each piece, and it’s my hope that I do.
I’m grateful for our relationship Kathy and for your contribution to me. 🙏❤️
I thought this likely *was* that piece you’ve mentioned.
Now I’m super curious what’s to come.
Today in a spiritual group, we talked about the gifts we bring each other, that each person is there for a reason and that both can grow from any encounter with anyone if they’re open to it.
I lived a different life with a different father, different dynamic. To be honest, it wasn’t until well unto adulthood that I even began to understand what I’ll call the nobility of some men in their service to others. How in some men, it knows no bounds.
Getting back to gifts we give each other, this story expands my vision and understanding of the depths to which men are capable of going. To me, there’s no greater gift anyone can give another person than helping them expand their vision.
That your father did all of this knowing he was in the last week of his life takes me somewhere beyond words. I’ve never seen it but now I have. It’s unspeakable human beauty, and this was your father. I’m pondering what this means to a child, and to an adult. It’s like the gift of touching a beating heart as it beats. Or something much better. There aren’t good enough words.
Kathy I'm speechless again, and teary-eyed. This might be the most beautiful passage I've ever read: "I’ve never seen it but now I have. It’s unspeakable human beauty, and this was your father.
I now know why my insides were knocking at those floorboards - to tell this story and that it would find you, and you would be introduced to my father.
It's a reminder, and a testament, that we can be introduced to the deceased, that we can get to know them, and we be influenced by them, just as your spiritual group discussed.
Dad, meet Kathy. Kathy, meet dad. You're cut from the same cloth. ❤
Hi Kathy (who I only know here through these words). These particular words: "I lived a different life with a different father, different dynamic.". Yes, me too. Yet somehow this exchange between you and James has led me to a great insight that the apparent inadequacy of my father to model the art of loving well for me is matched only by my own inadequacy to see it. He is still with us although barely in my heart. Much more so after today. Thanks both.
Zoe, such humility in your reply. Thank you for illuminating the role we play in all of our circumstances, and the choice we have in how we relate to them. ❤
Zoe, this is profound. Thanks for sharing your thoughts. I wish you the very best in connecting with your father.
I’d do things differently with mine now, but I only know this after learning from what I did do. I distanced myself for my own sanity. (Similar to “he’s barely in my heart” as you said, sounds like.)
From my perspective today, I could offer him much more love, everything I have, regardless of his own actions if he was still here. It’s something to do anyway, retroactively, I’m thinking. I can and should reframe my entire past from the lens of right now. He did his best. Most all of us are doing our best with what we have and what we know. I guess there are lots of ways to teach. Like James’ father did, or like mine and perhaps yours did. Hopefully we end up at the same place of love.
James, I really look forward to reading the story you’ve wanted to write about your dad. If it’s even HALF as touching as the one you just published, it’ll be a must-read. I realize that something like this emerges only when it’s ready, but I hope you eventually write it.
Earlier this week I was reflecting with some others on the inadequacy of the question “How are you”. The only convenient answer is “good” and yet what lies underneath that word is always a vast iceberg of complexity. I say this because leaving a “like” here feels similarly appropriate and also woefully lacking. So much to say but will simply allow these words to live on in me somehow, in ways you will never really know but that will matter. Heartfelt thanks.
Zoe, I smile whenever I see your name. And I laugh whenever we connect in person or on the phone. AND you always express such deep things that make me think, and then what you've said lives on in me too :)
I grateful that the experience with my father, wrapped in my words and reflections will live on in you. That brings me great joy. As you would know as a writer too, isn't that what we hope for? To make an imprint in some positive way, on someone's life? And not need to know that we have, just to have faith that we did, or might still? Thank you so much for being a profound contribution to my life too. Much love, Zoe.
Wow, James. This was stunning and such a testament to your father. I loved how a simple day of running errands said so much about who your father was. Thank you for sharing this, it really touched me. This in particular:
“For the first time, I realized that for him, it had never been the smell of sickness or sadness. It had been the smell of service.”
Rachel, thank you for reading and for commenting. It was so simple as you say. That hour together came at the end of the second week when I had accepted his choice and I recall wanting to savor the moments being present while also witnessing our time together. This essay came from both. Watching my dad tending the azalea while sitting in the car, I was so moved I knew that I would write about it someday.
I’m grateful to be in your orbit, and reading each other’s work.
Our family is in the middle of a very similar situation right now and your essay brought a sense of peace to me. Spending time with someone with whom there is little time left is a strange feeling. Your essay conveyed the feelings so well.
Rachel, my heart goes out to you and the situation you are in. Sending you positive energy and hugs.
There is a sacredness to being present in the moment and feeling life unfold, even as each moment moves closer to death. My father passed away three years ago, yet my relationship with him has continued to grow since then. I continue to have conversations with him in my head, and I see distinctions of him that I didn't when he was alive. Oddly, strangely, but not surprisingly, writing about him (and my mom) is a way of "tending" to a continued relationship with them. Plus, and you have kids like I do, we keep them alive to the next generation with our words and our stories. :)
Rachel, you are such a beautiful writer - I encourage you to journal what is showing up for you during this raw time. I suspect you'll find words and just the right outlet to share and it will be a big contribution to others.
Thank you so much, James. Your message really touched me. I love what you said about your relationship with your father continuing to grow even after his passing—that’s such a beautiful and comforting thought. I’ve been feeling that same sense of sacredness in simply being present with my dad these days. In a strange way, it’s been a gift to be forced to notice and appreciate every precious moment. Writing has definitely become a way for me to stay connected and make meaning through it all, so your encouragement means a lot ◡̈
Rachel, you’re so welcome, and this is so beautifully put: “I’ve been feeling that same sense of sacredness in simply being present with my dad these days. In a strange way, it’s been a gift to be forced to notice and appreciate every precious moment.”
James, this piece has stayed with me since I first read it, and I know it will for a long time. What a beautiful testament to the unshakable love, service, and steady grace of your father — and of you.
Hi Brigitte. Isn’t that what we hope for, that something we write will find its way inside someone and make a contribution to them? I’m grateful that is the case with you 😊😊.
James, I wholeheartedly agree with everything shared here thus far. What a beautiful piece of writing, a wonderful tribute to a really great man.
By so vividly introducing us your father in the last week he was alive, you revealed the kind of person he’d been his entire life. It's fitting that one of the last things he ever did was attend to some errands … so he could tend to others: his children, the hospital staff, even the birds outside. Wonderful.
Larry, thank you for taking the time to comment, AND for the help prior to this essay seeing the light of day. I'm grateful for your coaching and feedback. And for our incredible session with Rick the other day! I did, in fact, enjoy the IPA. Take good care, pal.
"I was beginning to feel like I was on a scavenger hunt without the list." It's so touching to read about what your father's priorities were in his final week, still thinking about what other people might need. I like that he wanted to go to the ocean and eat an oyster.
You write so tenderly about tending and attending to your father. It's a beautiful tribute, James. Thank you for sharing it here.
Wendy, You know those times when you're writing and you discover what you're writing isn't coming from your thinking brain, it's coming from somewhere else? That's what it was when that scavenger hunt line came out of my pen. I recalled having that thought three years ago when that hour with my dad took place, but I had completely forgotten it, until I was immersed back in the setting with him and it was as if my body and memory knew (th scavenger hunt feeling) what my mind didn't or hadn't yet re-grasped.
Any way, thank you so much for reading and taking the time to write back your thoughts. I love that we're connected out here in the Substack world. - Take care, James
What a beautiful story with great sense of humanity and even a narrative arc.
I lost my father many years ago and your story made me feel the loss again and more importantly, the lost opportunities. I am inspired to be sure that it doesn't happen again.
Drake, so good to hear from you. I trust you’ve been well. I’m glad the story touched and inspired you, while enabling you to re-see the limited time with your own father. Take good care, pal.
The blurry view of your dad resonates as I currently have a blurry view of my own computer monitor. This was so well written. I hardly have words, only tears.
Sam, Thank you so much for sharing. I think somewhere up in the comments I felt a sense of relief when I hit publish last Friday morning. And that relief I felt comes from sharing my dad with others and how he can imprint others even after his passing.
You know, I’ve been moved by a lot of pieces, but this one hit. It wasn’t a single line that sent me into a burst of tears or grabbed my gut, but all of it. As i scrolled through your writing tears streamed down my face. What beautiful memories and lessons and attunement towards what we all need to prioritize: tending.
Thanks so much for this. Keeping you and your family in my prayers this week.
Emma! I love seeing your name pop up in my inbox. Quick note - my dad died three years ago - and it was my mom's passing that was the impetus to get this out of my head and into the world so that my father's tending could serve others. We "tend" plants, and our garden. It was seeing my father over that azalea when the word "tend" came to mind and then "attend" echoed in my head and the seed of this essay began to grow inside me.
I love that you're out there reading my random missives, and I love that I'm privileged to read yours too. 💗
Wow James. Typing this through tears. What a stunningly beautiful testament to your father, phenomenally crafted with details and sentiments perfectly chosen. Wonderful storytelling. So good, man. Sending love to you and your family.
Alex, I guess I'm dwelling in love too 😊. I'm glad it landed on you the way it did. I've been tumbling this around in my head for quite a while and am glad Dad is out there and imprinting others now. May I set my phone down (or get a flip!) and tend to what is most important. I'm grateful for you
PS: I hung out with Tommy D. for a day in Seattle a few months back. Goodness.
I loved reading this, James. Attending to tend is how I want to live and teach my kids to live. We are called to Love God and Love People. Attend to Tend!
Over 5 years ago, I used to take random Friday’s off of work to run errands with my Dad as he was dying of liver failure. I remember picking up mail, dropping off/picking-up laundry and watching him fall asleep against the window as we went to each place. I remember crying knowing I don’t know how much time he had left.
Fast forward, he received a new liver, is doing great, we are closing on our California cabin this Friday, and my Mom and him are moving up to Boise in a few weeks. I am trying my best to be present for the most important things.
Dustin, I love this! Your father doing great new and is coming to town. I also loved what you shared about your time with your father running errands with him, being present, even if he was sleeping against the window. This time being present, not knowing how long we have, is, as you describe it, sacred time. Living that way will role model it to our kids as you say. I deeply appreciate you sharing your story here and I'm glad for the time you still get with your dad. 😊
And thank you for being here Mary. Yes, See Candy - it was so random and I had no idea what we were getting, and where we were taking them. :) It was beautiful.
James always presses on the most tender parts of human emotion, until you feel them at all their best, and most real. This piece brilliants weaves the power of memory through the sense of smell and makes tiny moments come alive, even as it is a story about death.
James, I feel like you gave me an intimate glimpse into the sacredness of your relationship with your dad. Thank you for inviting me there.
Teri, there’s that word “tend” in the word tender 😊.
Thank you for the compliment and the heartfelt words. It was a magical and mystical hour with my father and yes, sacred captures the essence of my relationship with my father.
Teri, I’m so grateful we are connected. You contribute deeply to me while also drawing out the better parts of my complicated self 🙏.
James. there, you did it again…you pointed out something brilliant. that “tend” is in the word “tender” and damn, I use the word tender a lot. I feel like I know your dad as his legacy lives on through you. You have been tender and tended to me many times.
I’m grateful we have connected too. Much love back.
Such a gracious, thoughtful, reflective, wise, and deep honoring of your father, his life, and your life with him. I, too, so appreciate the distinction, "tend" and "attend." You do both, James, and my heart is full of gratitude for you being in it. Thank you.
Hi Amba, thank you. 🙏. It was you who once said to me, “language is how we inhabit the world.” When the distinction showed up between attend and tend years ago when this time with my dad occurred, I’ve been thinking about the distinction and working on this piece in my head. It feels good to have it out in the world and contributing to others now. Much love to you. ❤️
As you know I found this to be an exquisite share and piece of writing James. The blurry view of your dad through the windshield was in complete contrast to the clear and revealing detail of his character in your storytelling. He was in focus the whole time, and as is the beauty with memoir, that focus is preserved for you and your family to forever enjoy.
Rick, Thank you pal, and thank you for your purposeful hands while the essay was on the clay wheel being sculpted. Your feedback and suggestions were invaluable, and helped me move forward to completion with confidence. I'm so grateful.
James, this astonishes me. The power of a story this well-written knows no bounds, I’m thinking.
What a role model he must’ve been. What a moving glimpse into how you became the person you are through such a fine man’s guidance, even in his last days. What a beautiful man, a profoundly caring soul, touching so many lives. Same as you, I imagine.
You’re a wonderful writer. Thanks for publishing this. It’s remarkable.
Kathy, all morning, I’ve pondered what you wrote here and can’t really come up with a reply, other than to say thank you. Thank you for reading, and for seeing what kind of man my father is, and what kind of man I keep aspiring to be. He was a wonderful role model indeed.
You know that piece I’ve been telling you I’ve been writing about my dad? This isn’t it. This one has been rolling around in my head for three years and it started knocking at the floorboards of me after my mom passed and wouldn’t leave me alone. I’m glad it’s out there in the world so that others can learn from his lesson too.
Thank you also for the words about how my writing lands on you. As one I’m journeying with in our writing community, it’s my aim to try and get better in new ways with each piece, and it’s my hope that I do.
I’m grateful for our relationship Kathy and for your contribution to me. 🙏❤️
I thought this likely *was* that piece you’ve mentioned.
Now I’m super curious what’s to come.
Today in a spiritual group, we talked about the gifts we bring each other, that each person is there for a reason and that both can grow from any encounter with anyone if they’re open to it.
I lived a different life with a different father, different dynamic. To be honest, it wasn’t until well unto adulthood that I even began to understand what I’ll call the nobility of some men in their service to others. How in some men, it knows no bounds.
Getting back to gifts we give each other, this story expands my vision and understanding of the depths to which men are capable of going. To me, there’s no greater gift anyone can give another person than helping them expand their vision.
That your father did all of this knowing he was in the last week of his life takes me somewhere beyond words. I’ve never seen it but now I have. It’s unspeakable human beauty, and this was your father. I’m pondering what this means to a child, and to an adult. It’s like the gift of touching a beating heart as it beats. Or something much better. There aren’t good enough words.
Kathy I'm speechless again, and teary-eyed. This might be the most beautiful passage I've ever read: "I’ve never seen it but now I have. It’s unspeakable human beauty, and this was your father.
I now know why my insides were knocking at those floorboards - to tell this story and that it would find you, and you would be introduced to my father.
It's a reminder, and a testament, that we can be introduced to the deceased, that we can get to know them, and we be influenced by them, just as your spiritual group discussed.
Dad, meet Kathy. Kathy, meet dad. You're cut from the same cloth. ❤
Hi Kathy (who I only know here through these words). These particular words: "I lived a different life with a different father, different dynamic.". Yes, me too. Yet somehow this exchange between you and James has led me to a great insight that the apparent inadequacy of my father to model the art of loving well for me is matched only by my own inadequacy to see it. He is still with us although barely in my heart. Much more so after today. Thanks both.
Zoe, such humility in your reply. Thank you for illuminating the role we play in all of our circumstances, and the choice we have in how we relate to them. ❤
Zoe, this is profound. Thanks for sharing your thoughts. I wish you the very best in connecting with your father.
I’d do things differently with mine now, but I only know this after learning from what I did do. I distanced myself for my own sanity. (Similar to “he’s barely in my heart” as you said, sounds like.)
From my perspective today, I could offer him much more love, everything I have, regardless of his own actions if he was still here. It’s something to do anyway, retroactively, I’m thinking. I can and should reframe my entire past from the lens of right now. He did his best. Most all of us are doing our best with what we have and what we know. I guess there are lots of ways to teach. Like James’ father did, or like mine and perhaps yours did. Hopefully we end up at the same place of love.
Wishing you the best.
Kathy, as the mouse traveled over your picture to this comment box, I noticed the description of your Substack profile:
"Lover of finding our shared sameness amid vast differences."
I love how that describes what is happening here through the shared investment of ourselves.
I'm deeply contributed to by this exchange. Thank you both.
James, I really look forward to reading the story you’ve wanted to write about your dad. If it’s even HALF as touching as the one you just published, it’ll be a must-read. I realize that something like this emerges only when it’s ready, but I hope you eventually write it.
HI Larry, I have most of it written and need to return to it. Your comment is a tailwind toward me reengaging with it. Thank you!
Earlier this week I was reflecting with some others on the inadequacy of the question “How are you”. The only convenient answer is “good” and yet what lies underneath that word is always a vast iceberg of complexity. I say this because leaving a “like” here feels similarly appropriate and also woefully lacking. So much to say but will simply allow these words to live on in me somehow, in ways you will never really know but that will matter. Heartfelt thanks.
Zoe, I smile whenever I see your name. And I laugh whenever we connect in person or on the phone. AND you always express such deep things that make me think, and then what you've said lives on in me too :)
I grateful that the experience with my father, wrapped in my words and reflections will live on in you. That brings me great joy. As you would know as a writer too, isn't that what we hope for? To make an imprint in some positive way, on someone's life? And not need to know that we have, just to have faith that we did, or might still? Thank you so much for being a profound contribution to my life too. Much love, Zoe.
Wow, James. This was stunning and such a testament to your father. I loved how a simple day of running errands said so much about who your father was. Thank you for sharing this, it really touched me. This in particular:
“For the first time, I realized that for him, it had never been the smell of sickness or sadness. It had been the smell of service.”
Rachel, thank you for reading and for commenting. It was so simple as you say. That hour together came at the end of the second week when I had accepted his choice and I recall wanting to savor the moments being present while also witnessing our time together. This essay came from both. Watching my dad tending the azalea while sitting in the car, I was so moved I knew that I would write about it someday.
I’m grateful to be in your orbit, and reading each other’s work.
Our family is in the middle of a very similar situation right now and your essay brought a sense of peace to me. Spending time with someone with whom there is little time left is a strange feeling. Your essay conveyed the feelings so well.
Rachel, my heart goes out to you and the situation you are in. Sending you positive energy and hugs.
There is a sacredness to being present in the moment and feeling life unfold, even as each moment moves closer to death. My father passed away three years ago, yet my relationship with him has continued to grow since then. I continue to have conversations with him in my head, and I see distinctions of him that I didn't when he was alive. Oddly, strangely, but not surprisingly, writing about him (and my mom) is a way of "tending" to a continued relationship with them. Plus, and you have kids like I do, we keep them alive to the next generation with our words and our stories. :)
Rachel, you are such a beautiful writer - I encourage you to journal what is showing up for you during this raw time. I suspect you'll find words and just the right outlet to share and it will be a big contribution to others.
Thank you so much, James. Your message really touched me. I love what you said about your relationship with your father continuing to grow even after his passing—that’s such a beautiful and comforting thought. I’ve been feeling that same sense of sacredness in simply being present with my dad these days. In a strange way, it’s been a gift to be forced to notice and appreciate every precious moment. Writing has definitely become a way for me to stay connected and make meaning through it all, so your encouragement means a lot ◡̈
Rachel, you’re so welcome, and this is so beautifully put: “I’ve been feeling that same sense of sacredness in simply being present with my dad these days. In a strange way, it’s been a gift to be forced to notice and appreciate every precious moment.”
Give yourself a lot of space. ❤️
James, this piece has stayed with me since I first read it, and I know it will for a long time. What a beautiful testament to the unshakable love, service, and steady grace of your father — and of you.
Hi Brigitte. Isn’t that what we hope for, that something we write will find its way inside someone and make a contribution to them? I’m grateful that is the case with you 😊😊.
I plan to read your piece this weekend. 😀
James, I wholeheartedly agree with everything shared here thus far. What a beautiful piece of writing, a wonderful tribute to a really great man.
By so vividly introducing us your father in the last week he was alive, you revealed the kind of person he’d been his entire life. It's fitting that one of the last things he ever did was attend to some errands … so he could tend to others: his children, the hospital staff, even the birds outside. Wonderful.
I hope you enjoyed that IPA ...
... and that toast.
Larry, thank you for taking the time to comment, AND for the help prior to this essay seeing the light of day. I'm grateful for your coaching and feedback. And for our incredible session with Rick the other day! I did, in fact, enjoy the IPA. Take good care, pal.
Happy to help. You were 99.9% there before anyone ever put their eyeballs on the draft.
Yours is an extraordinary essay ... about an extraordinary man.
Thank you Larry. I appreciate it.
"I was beginning to feel like I was on a scavenger hunt without the list." It's so touching to read about what your father's priorities were in his final week, still thinking about what other people might need. I like that he wanted to go to the ocean and eat an oyster.
You write so tenderly about tending and attending to your father. It's a beautiful tribute, James. Thank you for sharing it here.
Wendy, You know those times when you're writing and you discover what you're writing isn't coming from your thinking brain, it's coming from somewhere else? That's what it was when that scavenger hunt line came out of my pen. I recalled having that thought three years ago when that hour with my dad took place, but I had completely forgotten it, until I was immersed back in the setting with him and it was as if my body and memory knew (th scavenger hunt feeling) what my mind didn't or hadn't yet re-grasped.
Any way, thank you so much for reading and taking the time to write back your thoughts. I love that we're connected out here in the Substack world. - Take care, James
Revisiting that time by writing about is has been cathartic, I hope, James?
It’s four years now since my parents died and what I remember about them shifts as time passes. I’m glad to have caught some of it in writing.
Very glad to have connected via Substack, too!
What a beautiful story with great sense of humanity and even a narrative arc.
I lost my father many years ago and your story made me feel the loss again and more importantly, the lost opportunities. I am inspired to be sure that it doesn't happen again.
Drake, so good to hear from you. I trust you’ve been well. I’m glad the story touched and inspired you, while enabling you to re-see the limited time with your own father. Take good care, pal.
The blurry view of your dad resonates as I currently have a blurry view of my own computer monitor. This was so well written. I hardly have words, only tears.
Sam, Thank you so much for sharing. I think somewhere up in the comments I felt a sense of relief when I hit publish last Friday morning. And that relief I felt comes from sharing my dad with others and how he can imprint others even after his passing.
PS: I look forward to seeing you on Thursday!
Oh cool, look forward to seeing you as well!
You know, I’ve been moved by a lot of pieces, but this one hit. It wasn’t a single line that sent me into a burst of tears or grabbed my gut, but all of it. As i scrolled through your writing tears streamed down my face. What beautiful memories and lessons and attunement towards what we all need to prioritize: tending.
Thanks so much for this. Keeping you and your family in my prayers this week.
Emma! I love seeing your name pop up in my inbox. Quick note - my dad died three years ago - and it was my mom's passing that was the impetus to get this out of my head and into the world so that my father's tending could serve others. We "tend" plants, and our garden. It was seeing my father over that azalea when the word "tend" came to mind and then "attend" echoed in my head and the seed of this essay began to grow inside me.
I love that you're out there reading my random missives, and I love that I'm privileged to read yours too. 💗
Wow James. Typing this through tears. What a stunningly beautiful testament to your father, phenomenally crafted with details and sentiments perfectly chosen. Wonderful storytelling. So good, man. Sending love to you and your family.
Alex, I guess I'm dwelling in love too 😊. I'm glad it landed on you the way it did. I've been tumbling this around in my head for quite a while and am glad Dad is out there and imprinting others now. May I set my phone down (or get a flip!) and tend to what is most important. I'm grateful for you
PS: I hung out with Tommy D. for a day in Seattle a few months back. Goodness.
Right back at you! Love that you got to see Tommy.
A beautiful tribute--poignant and touching. So hard to let our parents go, even when we know it's time. May his memory be a blessing.
Thank you Sarah. 🙏❤️
I loved reading this, James. Attending to tend is how I want to live and teach my kids to live. We are called to Love God and Love People. Attend to Tend!
Over 5 years ago, I used to take random Friday’s off of work to run errands with my Dad as he was dying of liver failure. I remember picking up mail, dropping off/picking-up laundry and watching him fall asleep against the window as we went to each place. I remember crying knowing I don’t know how much time he had left.
Fast forward, he received a new liver, is doing great, we are closing on our California cabin this Friday, and my Mom and him are moving up to Boise in a few weeks. I am trying my best to be present for the most important things.
Thanks for sharing your story.
Dustin, I love this! Your father doing great new and is coming to town. I also loved what you shared about your time with your father running errands with him, being present, even if he was sleeping against the window. This time being present, not knowing how long we have, is, as you describe it, sacred time. Living that way will role model it to our kids as you say. I deeply appreciate you sharing your story here and I'm glad for the time you still get with your dad. 😊
Thank you for sharing this lovely piece. A man after my own heart, distributing See's chocolates.
And thank you for being here Mary. Yes, See Candy - it was so random and I had no idea what we were getting, and where we were taking them. :) It was beautiful.
James always presses on the most tender parts of human emotion, until you feel them at all their best, and most real. This piece brilliants weaves the power of memory through the sense of smell and makes tiny moments come alive, even as it is a story about death.
James, I feel like you gave me an intimate glimpse into the sacredness of your relationship with your dad. Thank you for inviting me there.
Teri, there’s that word “tend” in the word tender 😊.
Thank you for the compliment and the heartfelt words. It was a magical and mystical hour with my father and yes, sacred captures the essence of my relationship with my father.
Teri, I’m so grateful we are connected. You contribute deeply to me while also drawing out the better parts of my complicated self 🙏.
Much love to you.
James. there, you did it again…you pointed out something brilliant. that “tend” is in the word “tender” and damn, I use the word tender a lot. I feel like I know your dad as his legacy lives on through you. You have been tender and tended to me many times.
I’m grateful we have connected too. Much love back.
Teri, thank you again for this tender note, and the tender conversation we had on Monday 😊
Such a gracious, thoughtful, reflective, wise, and deep honoring of your father, his life, and your life with him. I, too, so appreciate the distinction, "tend" and "attend." You do both, James, and my heart is full of gratitude for you being in it. Thank you.
Hi Amba, thank you. 🙏. It was you who once said to me, “language is how we inhabit the world.” When the distinction showed up between attend and tend years ago when this time with my dad occurred, I’ve been thinking about the distinction and working on this piece in my head. It feels good to have it out in the world and contributing to others now. Much love to you. ❤️