This is an excerpt from my journal exactly one year ago today. It is about my pregnancy and approaching due date but seems suiting on the anniversary of my dad's death (though I would not know about his passing for two more days).
There was always going to be a time I arrived at this moment. A time that would mark the end of a chapter and the beginning of a new one. And as all things in my life, I would find myself deep in the folds of the change – adjusting – because I am too steady to react otherwise...
How refreshing to find in this whole process the mantra I’ve come to learn the best is that now I am truly writing my own story. Not that I wasn’t before but perhaps I didn’t have enough confidence or trust in the story I was writing. Could a new human drive that inspiration for me to accept myself, dare I say love myself as much as I will love this kid?! The expectations can be overwhelming but I do find the need to get this all down before I walk in a building one person and walk out another. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be and I like to imagine that I will do just fine. Love has grown immeasurably in my heart and in my life these past few years. It has been a softening of sorts, a coming to terms, and an opening of my eyes. I see the direction I want to pursue. I don’t want to loose some of that edge in my soul but I do want to make myself available to the possibilities; available to respond as a strong, intelligent, kind-hearted, confident woman. It is clear that being that person is the best way for me to be a good mom. And so the challenge begins.
In retrospect, my father was a parent who viewed his children as people. He provided but more importantly he treated us with respect, he laughed with us, and let us cry on his shoulder. He exposed us to life and then let us share our adventures with him. This is the legacy he left behind. I will succeed if I can provide my daughter with the same limitless love.