“I want something from Daddy that he is not able to give me . . . It is only that I long for Daddy’s real love, not only as his child, but for me — Anne, myself.” — Anne Frank, Diary of a Young Girl
CARL “ANDY” ANDERSON
June 9, 1926 – February 15, 2023
From a beloved written the day after my father died:
“The waiting is over for everyone, your dad, you, your sisters, maybe God, too. Now all who were joined in the picture of waiting, find their own path, their own sense of what awaits them and has been waiting for them.
I do trust Love now embraces each of you or waits to embrace each of you in some way you have not known before. This is a unique loss, particular loss, as each beloved’s passing must be.
So my prayer now is that all hearts can open to believe what has been waiting. Love doesn’t wipe out the myriad of feelings and memories, but it is more enduring and stronger than any one of those. It can stand by anguish and anger, numb and empty, regret and longing — you name it.”
This haiku from a beloved:
clear and cold
flurries of grief pile in drifts —
frozen in place
Another beloved began her condolence note with:
“Your parents died as they lived — stubborn as hell.”
Thank you for sharing your grief – and exquisite photos. Sending love.
Welcome to breath, to sunrise, to open arms.
Thank you for sharing your very personal journey through this latest grief in such a profoundly beautiful way. Thank you for being “there” each morning to experience the shining of the light that overcomes the darkness and adds amazing brightness and color to empty winter landscapes. I hope–and trust–that this Light will continue to penetrate those bleak spaces within you as you continue this journey through loss, helping you, not to get to the “end” of this passage, but rather to help you find your footing in each new lingering or sudden awareness that your father is now beyond the reach of your longings.
” . . . but rather to help you find your footing in each new lingering or sudden awareness that your father is now beyond the reach of your longings.”
Instant tears, Carol. I saw me reaching on tiptoes and unable to cling onto anything.
Absolutely gorgeous. Thank you for sharing this beauty and your pain.
Today, I re-read the March poem on the sunrise calendar you gifted me. It seems to belong here, too:
Our heart wanders lost in the dark woods.
Our dream wrestles in the castle of doubt.
But there is music in us. Hope is pushed down
but the angel flies up again taking us with her.
~ Jack Gilbert
Here is the entire poem from the March calendar card:
Horses at Midnight Without a Moon
by Jack Gilbert
Our heart wanders lost in the dark woods.
Our dream wrestles in the castle of doubt.
But there’s music in us. Hope is pushed down
but the angel flies up again taking us with her.
The summer mornings begin inch by inch
while we sleep, and walk with us later
as long-legged beauty through
the dirty streets. It is no surprise
that danger and suffering surround us.
What astonishes is the singing.
We know the horses are there in the dark
meadow because we can smell them,
can hear them breathing.
Our spirit persists like a man struggling
through the frozen valley
who suddenly smells flowers
and realizes the snow is melting
out of sight on top of the mountain,
knows that spring has begun.