Mother's Day, and movie day...

Today I celebrated Mother's Day with a BBQ at my Aunt's house. It was an afternoon of delicious food and buzzing conversation, and bunnies in the backyard eating dandelions. Phoebe was running around and being her cute little Pomeranian self, and my Aunt, my Nonna and Nonno, and my cousins were there.  My Oma was there too, and my Aunt Chris, who is like a second mother to me.  It was such a beautiful day. For those of you who understand energies, it was an afternoon of strong dynamics, loudness and softness, and the coming together of personalities that span generations. Such is a typical family get together which often leaves me satisfied and energized, and happily exhausted too.

Recently we've transferred several "reel to reel" films to DVD. They are really old and have no sound. I've never seen them before today.  We sat down after lunch and popped them in to the DVD player.

As far as family movies go, I haven't watched any since my Opa passed away in December. (Opa means "grandfather").  The ones I know begin when I was 6 years old and I've seen them so many times that they're pretty much memorized. I know where we were and what was happening. I know who will tell a joke, who is laughing, and what we were eating... Today I got to see new movies of times before I was born, of my parent's wedding, and of my Aunt's wedding, and it was amazing to see images of faces I know that have been altered by age, of people who are no longer living, and a time where beehive hair-dos were attractive, and the trees on our street were really small.

I knew I'd see my Opa in my parent's wedding movie, and I was bracing myself because I knew I'd cry. And I did. There he was on his daughter's wedding day, his hair still grey, dancing, laughing... I cried...

But I wasn't prepared to see me in the movies. They had jumped ahead in time to a family party, and I was probably 1 year old. It cut to a scene where my Opa was holding me in his arms. He was smiling and holding me like I weighed nothing. I was so small. And it's incredible how different it is to see things passing in time, as opposed to seeing things in a still photograph. I could see his face in laughter, and the way his body moved, the pull of the fabric of his shirt as he jumped around for the camera.

My feelings of missing him came back afresh, and all of my emotions reopened and triggered sensory memories, like the physical feeling of hugging him, the sound of his voice,  the feel of his flannel shirt, how he smelled... The surface of his hands, and how incredibly strong they were. And I remember the softness of his hair. It was so white.

And in terms of energies, his was so calm and joyous, and positive, and he emanated such a warmth and kindness that you felt instantly comforted just by being near to him. 

There are no words of comfort that can soothe me. I know that his influence in my life was deep, and that I'm blessed with a richness of memories, and I know that he loved me very much, but at times like this I wish that he was here again, and all I want is to feel the weight of his arms in a hug. Other times I wish that he could be here to give me his advice, and express his point of view.

So far this evening I've used up an entire box of tissue, and my face is so puffy from crying that I wonder if I'll look normal tomorrow, even after a whole night's sleep. I just think that the only way I can honour his memory is to live my life in ways that would make him proud of me. To never lose sight of my dreams, to always know what I'm worth, to be thankful for everything I have, and to celebrate each and every incredible moment of my existence to it's fullest.