To My Mom

To My Mom:

As I sit here and ponder on this story, the emotions needed to explore this may be too much. I’m just not sure; the door is yellow, which means enter, but be cautious in this journey. As you know, red doors are the only ones off limits right now for me. 

I’m still sitting here, thinking about where to start. This story is much more difficult than the last. It seems there is a stop sign ahead, and I’m going to pay attention to it. I’m going to stop; it looks like an all way stop. I’m looking in all directions and seeing lots of thoughts and emotions at all the stop signs, a traffic jam of emotions. I want and need to write this out. A trusted member of my community has encouraged me to take it slowly and just let the story develop. I need to examine how each of these thoughts and emotions speaks to me. This is a more natural therapeutic process. Thank you, trusted friend. 

The last story took so much out of me, but I want to press forward. I have waved these emotions on in different directions, and we will see them deeper in the story. I think they were just warning me of what was to come, and I’m okay with that. The door is still cracked, and I can escape if I need to. Always have an escape plan. 

So, I’m sitting here at this all way stop, and I’ve been courteous and waved all the thoughts and emotions on. I’m the only one left here at the stop sign, and it’s my turn to go. So here we go, “To My Mom.”  

It’s been two weeks now, and I realize why I haven’t written any words down. I spotted a red door emotion at one of those stop signs. It has been in the forefront of my mind since waving all those emotions and thoughts through. Those thoughts and emotions are very real and a part of this story, but not right now.

I got out of my car at the all way stop and walked right up to the car window, just like I did when I was eighteen years old. I punched out all the windows in the car, including the back glass and the windshield and told him to leave and never come back. I threw everything he had in the yard and never saw him again. That evil man had one goal for me and that was death. I guess he finally saw the evil in my eyes. If he had spoken one word to me that day, I would be in prison today. 

That’s the thing most abusers don’t get; we all grow up. At some point, we will be able to defend ourselves. He thought the torture he inflected on me would have been enough for me to submit to his every word. But not that day! I hope you can feel and sense the (powerful) emotions expressed here.  

It has to stay away right now. 

That’s one of the beautiful things of discovering and exploring these emotions; they are complex and so many are woven together. No matter the door you label them in, they have a way of making it to the front of our thoughts and can even rule our emotions. So, with that said, we are moving forward with this story. “To My Mom.”

To My Mom: Sometimes, I can’t understand why. Why did you decide to have me if you knew you couldn’t care for me? Why would you have me if you knew? Maybe you just had a dream of a family full of love, peace, and happiness. The dream trumped all rationale. 

To My Mom: Your choices in men were the worst. You picked the ones who hated me. You picked the ones who wanted nothing but death for me. Even my own dad killed himself. So, death seems to be the curse that has followed me on this journey of life. You chose four people to be a father to me and none were more than ashes to me. 

To My Mom: I look at the few pictures that I have of me when I was a child. I must admit, they make me smile and warm my heart. I can think there was a time that it may have been okay. There may have been a time that I was loved, hugged, and taken care of. The latter part of my childhood seems to erase all of that. It’s like going from a beautiful sunny day to an all-out deep, dark storm. 

To My Mom: Some say, “beauty comes from pain.” Some say, “beauty comes out of the ashes when you walk through a fire.” I get this, Mom. It is true. If we all had perfect childhoods, then who helps those who don’t? Who can direct them to the right places to get the help they need? 

To My Mom: Our relationship never developed until the last two weeks of your life. I spent every night in the hospital with you watching you die. The cancer had finally won. You just wanted to know I was there, and I was. I felt like I loved you the way you loved me when I was just two weeks old. The love that is unconditional and has no borders. It was difficult watching you die, and my heart aches every day not to have your presence on this earth, as you were my mom. 

To My Mom: When I look at pictures of you now, you are but a memory, just like we all will be one day. A picture on a wall for a few years at least, and then we are forgotten. In years to come, our plight is unknown to those who come behind us. Mom, all I can hope is someday someone will be browsing and stumble upon this story. I hope they read it, and it encourages them; I hope they can see that beauty comes from pain and hope rises. 

To My Mom: I truly love you! I forgive you! I’m asking myself if that is enough. I’m approaching that all way stop, and the thoughts and emotions that have stopped here have moved on. I believe that’s what love and forgiveness bring, a life full of flowing happiness, a life that is beautiful. Thank you, Mom, for being there and for doing the best you could do. It had to be scary and heartbreaking at the same time. I’m not mad. I’m not angry. I am loved. 

I know through writing this story that you love me, and I believe you forgave me for not being the best son I could have been. Even in the best times, I was not so good. You know in your heart as a mom that I was doing my best. I love you, Mom. I miss you!

To My Mom: Beauty from pain, broken to life, beauty from ashes, amazing grace. Yes! You gave that to me. I love you.

 

www.sandwestedit.com

To My Dad

 To My Dad:

This is a continuation of my “to my” stories. This one may be abstract because I can’t see the person I’m talking about; I can’t see him as a daddy at all. I can’t see him as a man whom I was born after; I can’t even see him as a person. Memories are the foundational development of who we are as humans. This story has come to me after more than two years, visiting a wonderful therapist. 

If you read some of my backstories, you will see that I have been constantly growing into who I am at age sixty-one. Who would have thought? Some have asked me why I go to therapy. Why don’t you just let it go? Why put yourself through this? What is your end goal here? My answer is simple; I want freedom, and I want peace in every area of my life. Each story I write releases a part of me that has been in chains for years. I have to release these stories.

I want to leave a legacy in words for those who will come after me. I want those who have fallen to my plight to be encouraged that there is hope. You can live a life full of peace and happiness and a life full of love. It is possible to not know where you came from, but to know there is hope. There is love that is born out of not knowing who loved you first. So with that, here it goes, “to my dad.” 

To My Dad: I knew you but never knew you! You never gave me a chance to know you. You left me too soon. Before I could understand who you were, you left me. You left me! I am feeling anger and sadness in writing this. 

To My Dad: What hurts me the most is I don’t remember ever saying the word, “daddy.” That may have been the very first word out of my mouth. The first word I learned may have been “daddy.” I’m just not sure. I have no memory of those early years.

To My Dad: I needed a protector later in my childhood, and you were already gone. I was being tortured, and you were nowhere to be found. Where were you? I needed you so much, but you were never there. I was beaten and left for dead more than once; I needed you! Why did you leave me? 

To My Dad: When I cried, you were not there to comfort me. I was in tears, and you were already gone. You never saw me cry, never saw my tears, never heard my voice of helplessness. In the darkness, I needed my daddy, but you were gone. I can’t say you didn’t care, but you just couldn’t give what I needed. All I needed was to be loved. That’s all I ever wanted. 

To My Dad: You never saw me play ball at the park; you never saw me off to school; you never met my teachers; and you never helped me with my homework. I know you had something that you could have imparted to me, but I missed all of that because you left too soon. 

To My Dad: You would have been a great granddaddy! My grandchildren would have loved to have known you, but they don’t even know your name. They never ask who their great granddaddy is. This is so sad, and it makes me cry when I think about it. They would have loved your presence and your love that you could have shared with them.

To My Dad: I hope that at some point in your life you called on the God of hope to help you through the struggles you were having. Now I know they were so heavy on you that life itself escaped you. The struggle ultimately took your life and part of mine as well. 

To My Dad: I never got a hug from you; I never got a kiss from you; I never got a “I love you” from you. I think that’s why it made me want to love my girls even more. I missed all of this because you decided it was just too much for you. It seems selfish, but I wasn’t in your struggle as an active player. 

To My Dad: I needed rescuing, and you were already gone. What was I to do and feel beside your casket at the age of twelve? They had already removed me at age five, in and out of this torturous life. Seven years had gone by, and I cried every night since you left me with this evil step. I dare don’t call him father as he had no father qualities. This man was so evil and wanted nothing but death for me and my siblings. The system was and is broken, as it put me in and out of human danger until I was old enough to protect myself. 

To My Dad: I will never be sure why, but one thing is certain, you gave me life, and for that I am thankful. It has not been an easy road, but it has been a road none the less. I am thankful that at some point you actually loved my mom. I am thankful that at some point you may have said, “I love you,” and kissed me. I am thankful that God placed you on this planet to have a part in my life. I am thankful that you may have cared for me at some point in my life. You may not have been the best father, but you are still my father. Today If I could speak to you, I would tell you I love you and forgive you.

To My Dad: I can see now that there was so much on you that you felt you had no choice but to end it all. That seems to follow me in my life, but I’m determined not to follow you, as I love this life way too much. There is so much more to give. I want to bring hope, joy, and love to my grandchildren, my daughters, my son-in-loves, and my wonderful love of over forty years now, my sweet Lisa. 

To My Dad: So, when I visit your grave these days, I just say, “thank you.” Thank you for creating me; thank you for the part you played in my life. Thank you with tears. I miss you, Daddy, and I truly love you!  

www.sandwestedit.com

I Love You!

 I Love You!

Through my journey to open emotional doors locked away for many years, I have stumbled on a host of lost and forgotten doors. 

It’s the holiday season, and I wanted to write about a season of love that took place in the summer of 2005. It’s not a love like you are thinking about but a new love that I was shown. Love is not something you say but something you do. That’s the whole point of this story.  

Now would be a good time to explain the doors of emotions that have evolved over the past few years. They are all labeled in my mind. Some are locked, some are doubled locked, and each door is painted a color, green, yellow, and red. You have guessed it right; green is go, open, and explore; yellow is cautiously go but be ready to back out if needed; and red is no, not now, do not enter. I can walk by each door visually in my mind and my soul, spirit, and human emotion can let me know how to explore each of these safely. 

The door we are cracking today has a backstory that is totally red, but the front story is green, so I feel safe in opening this very positive door. It’s the point and time I learned to say to another human, “I love you!”

I’ve always told my wife, my girls, and some family members that I love them, and I meant it; I truly loved them. Something happened in the summer of 2005 that would change me and prepare me for the next event that is behind a red door that happened in the summer of 2006. That door is labeled, “Silence, Do Not Enter!” Just writing this makes me want to explore that door, but I know I’m not ready even after seventeen years have passed. So, I’m going to stay on track with this open green door, which is life changing for me. It has been screaming at me for weeks now to say it’s time to write, “I love you.”

I woke up this morning at about 2:30 am, and the story was coming together. In 2005, I traveled to St. Louis to meet up with a team of people who were changing America. I remember walking into the office and asking to speak with my contact, Pastor Jami. She greeted me at the door, and we sat and talked for what seemed like hours. We discussed joining together to meet the needs of the lost and forgotten people of this world. My mission was to bring people hope, comfort, and peace and to bring them to a knowledge of Jesus and His wonderful grace. I then got to meet with her husband, Pastor Jeff. We sat and talked even more. I left with the hope that we could work together in the future. 

I’m not really sure how it came to be, but I got a phone call from Jami, and she said she thought we could work together for a ministry event in the summer of 2005. I was so excited about this. This story is not about the event that would soon take place but about the people involved with the event. 

It’s not relevant what the ministry was but that we changed the lives of those we ministered to in a unique way. We can call it bringing Jesus to the water with love. This is safe for me, staying away from that red door we just mentioned. 

I flew back to St Louis to plan for the event, and I had checked into the motel. Jami called to tell me they would pick me up from the motel, and she invited me to stay with them for the duration of my trip. I was resistant, as I really didn’t know them that well, but it seemed like I had known them for years. I arrived at their mountaintop house and was treated like the rest of the family. I felt the love just pouring out of them. Jeff asked if I liked steak, and of course, I said, “Yes.” He said that we were going to make some fantastic ones. He salted the steaks, and it looked like it snowed on top of them. They led me to the room I would be staying in for the next few days. This home was so beautiful. They were a family of love and compassion, and hope just poured out of them. That’s what I remember the most. 

The steaks were delicious, and the meal was outstanding. Jami said, “Get ready, because Lost is coming on, and we don’t want to miss that.” So, we all went downstairs and sat on the couch and comfy chairs and watched Lost. I had never seen it, but I was instantly a fan. 

The next day, I explored the inner city with their ministry. The goal for that day was if you see a need then do everything in your power to meet that need. Whatever it was, meet the need. I had never seen anything like that, ever. 

Jeff and I were walking near his office and gunshots rang out. I asked if we were okay, and he assured me we were safe. This is the start of my experience of what love is and how it would change me. 

Later that evening, people were milling around the campus for a ministry event. A very nice man walked up to Jeff and asked him for money. Jeff’s reply changed me forever. He said, "Silver and gold I do not have, but I have the love of Christ. Would you like that instead?” 

The man replied, “Yes, of course!” He then looked at me and said, “George, share Jesus with this man.” It sounds like a story from the Bible, but I promise you I said, "Would you like to know Jesus as your savior?” And he said, “Yes.” So, I led him to Jesus. 

This is how it was with Jeff and Jami. They seemed to bring love with them wherever they went. I was blessed to hear Jeff preach a powerful message on the power of the Holy Spirit that evening. I even went up front and grabbed some anointing oil, which I still have today, and it never seems to run out. I have used it often in tough times and in times of need. 

I would be remiss to leave out the most important part of my journey. We returned to their home that evening, and I got on my knees to pray in my room. It wasn’t long into my prayer that the robe of Jesus passed right by my eyes, and I met the Holy Spirit of God in that place. I met the Spirit in a way that truly changed me forever. Love had a new meaning, but I wasn’t sure what was happening in that moment. It was well with my soul. 

Later that week, I visited another ministry and heard Jeff give his personal testimony of how God saved him from a life of drugs and a life of destruction. I could not believe my ears. God is truly greater than I could ever imagine. I felt like I was walking around with Paul of the Bible. During one of our conversations, Jeff told me I had put God in a tiny box. "He is much bigger than that, George,” he said. I totally agreed! 

It was time for me to go home, and they took me to the airport to drop me off. We sat out in the parking lot of the airport, and they wanted to pray with me. I leaned forward from the back seat, and they laid hands on my head and started praying for me. This was all new to me; I felt something so new, so full of love, and so beautiful. After the prayer, we got out of the car, and it happened. Jeff grabbed my shoulders, looked me in the eyes, and said, “I love you, friend.” Then Jami came around from the left, went under my arm, and gave me the biggest hug ever and said, “I love you!” I must say, I felt a bit uneasy. Telling people I loved them seemed strange to me. 

On the long plane ride home, I had the urge to tell people I met and made eye contact with that I loved them. Thanks to Jeff and Jami, I learned that I loved them, and I loved people, regardless of their position in life. Love trumps all things. That’s what they taught me, along with the Holy Spirt of God, to love all people. All I have to give is the Love of Christ. 

Seventeen years ago, I met some amazing people who taught me to love humans without a lens and without a filter. This season, don’t judge, love. Love unconditionally; love where the spirit leads you; love where your faith leads you; and love deeper than you ever have. Love is not something you just say, but something you do. 

www.sandwestedit.com

 

The Difference

The Difference

The question I get asked most about my writing is why my style has changed and moved in a different direction. People comment that my recent stories don’t contain as many biblical scriptures as my early writings did. Why is that, they ask? This honest question has led me to ponder on this for several months now. I mean, when I’m writing I still listen to the same Hillsong, Jenn Johnson, and Bethel music. 

Hold on a minute, let me take a break and listen to “Broken Vessel” by Hillsong, one of my favorite writing songs. It takes me to a place of brokenness and gives me beautiful thoughts of His amazing grace. I always listen to music as I write. This surrounds me with the deepest escape possible from this earth and brings a story that is forged out of a love emotion. We call it amazing grace. As writers, we all have triggers that take us to a place where we discover the most amazing stories and transform extraordinary visions into words.

So, what has changed in my writing style and why I don’t surround the story with Bible verses and encompass it that way? I have asked a few of my closest friends and even explained this in therapy. What I have discovered in searching this out is that my early stories were ghosted around certain Bible verses to give a direction to the truth and take the story that was so full of pain, my pain, and redirect it to a place of solace. In other words, I wrote out of whatever pain I was experiencing at that time. The Word set me free in so many ways. It was His life in me that was being written about. The pain was too unbearable to deal with, so I ghosted the story of great pain and deepest depressions with His word, hoping that He would just take it all or even take me. I had often asked God in these early stories, “Why do I have to live out every story of people that I meet?” It was hard for me to walk down the street and not see the pain of people. My favorite question in writing was, “So, what’s your story?” I was like a sponge, absorbing every emotion, suffering, and destruction of every human I met. It was so painful; I would live their suffering and heartaches. 

Now would be a great time to ease into Hillsong, “With Everything,” live in Israel. That’s another one of my greatest writing songs. Lift your hands and give Him praise! Got to take a break and listen to Taya Smith vocals kill this song of praise. I’m back now. 

So, with that said, what’s the difference between my early writings and now? Writers are always developing our styles and our developmental content. This is not a simple question to answer as a writer. After much thought, I came up with this conclusion with help from my sweet Lisa. I wrote my early stories with the hope of relief from the pain I was experiencing and used the Word of God to cancel my pain. That worked for me, but that ended up not being enough. The plan was always to focus on the Word and not me and what I was experiencing. I wanted to show that our God was able to take away everything. We have to be willing to give up that part of our humanity, the emotions and the pain, and give it all to Him!

Years later, love would enter into the mix. Pain and love really don’t mix that well. So, what was I to do? Love would win! So today I write from the emotion of love and not pain. I would love to bring the Word into every story, but the reality is that love is the Word—the creation, the love, the everything. That’s the difference. My early stories were written from so much pain and now my stories are written in His love. Love Him with everything! It’s a beautiful exchange! 

www.sandwestedit.com

 

To My Girls

 To My Girls

I love you!

So, with that said, that could be the end of the story. The truth is, though, my love for my girls is only the beginning. For the past few stories, I have focused on the memories and emotions that come along with all that. It’s been happy and sad all at the same time. I have been able to navigate these new waters at my age with the help and guidance of some unique people in my community. 

A good friend came by recently and we talked about a story I am writing in parallel with this one; she encouraged me to focus on the one that is most pressing in my mind. She told me she was happy that we were a part of her community. Life is about community if you think about it. That’s another story. 

This story has been brewing in my mind for several months now and it’s finally time to escape the boundaries of my mind and enter my thoughts into words. 

I remember when my sweet Lisa told me she was pregnant with our first girl. I was scared to death, thinking, what are we in for here? How can I raise a girl in this world? I need guns and bullets! Then, a year and a half later, we had another girl! Oh, Lord! What was I to do? We were just barely making it financially, working three jobs most of the time, but loving every minute. 

Providing for my family was ingrained in my being. Being removed at age five, I was determined not to repeat history. My girls would see a life that was full of love and joy. Not necessarily things, but just love and joy; knowing they were loved was the most important.

To be quite honest, I have been running from these emotions that are brewing in my soul for months now; just the thought of writing this has become so difficult. I wake up every morning with thoughts of finishing this story, but something always comes up that prevents me from engaging in it. I’m now in week eight, and I’ve only written a few words here and there. That explains all the rambling in the front end of this story. 

With everything in me, I love my girls! We have been blessed to have a wonderful relationship and a bond that is like no other. To My Girls was born out of the last two stories, and I don’t want them to read this story until I am no longer on this earth. I’m sure that won’t be the case.

I love you girls. All I ever wanted was for you to be loved and for you both to live a beautiful life, full of joy, happiness, and love. I believe God has blessed me with that for the most part. My beautiful, sweet Lisa (my wife) has endured so much in this life and is worthy of such a blessing of peace and harmony. I’ve asked God so many times to take whatever blessing He has had for me and give it to you and my girls. I don’t truly understand what love means, but given life or death, I would take the place of my girls if I could. So, here we go.

Girls, I want you to know that my heart has been so full over the years; raising you both was the most amazing and beautiful event in my life. Nothing compares to that. 

Lisa, you know I have done everything possible to mess this up, but you have fought for us, and for that I am so full of the newness of your love every single day. 

Girls, I want you to know that the joy and love you have brought me has extended the days of my life; you have been instrumental in the healing process of my mind and soul. 

Lisa, the love you have rained down on me has brought me great strength and focus to be the best I can be. Your love has forged a straight path that has given me hope and a promise of tomorrow.

Girls, your existence has brought me overwhelming love, feelings of pain, and feelings of great joy. All I ever wanted was to show you love and teach you how to love, and I believe I have done that. No matter how far from the shore I went, I could always see you; I could always feel you and experience your pain and joy.

Lisa, we have experienced so much over the past forty years. In the midst of intense attacks and extraordinary togetherness, love has prevailed. We have been desperate at times, and we have been on the mountaintops at times. Through it all, we came through that season. Sometimes we had to dust off the ashes, and sometimes we came out looking brand new. That has always made us who we were, ready for the next season. The storms and the beautiful calmness of the water have taught us to trust.

Girls, you are now grown, and I can only hope that I have given you all you will need to make it through each and every season in life—the good, the bad, the ugly, and the beautiful. I pray that this life is more kind to you than it has been to me. Life may not be fair at times, but always keep hope in front of your eyes. I hope that you see the good in all people, and understand that everyone needs a smile, a hug, a kiss, and just a kind word. I love you girls with all my heart and soul. This love I can’t explain. 

Lisa, I have gained this tremendous knowledge over the past two years that love has no boundaries, and that when our love is expressed, it can overcome all things and climb insurmountable mountains. You have sat so patiently with me for so many hours as I discovered these new truths and the emotions that I have kept hidden for so many years. 

Girls, what I will miss the most is your kisses and the beautiful hugs you give me every time we see each other. I will miss the dinners we shared, the laughter we shared, and the cries we shared. I will miss the looks you give your children, and the instruction you give them minute-by-minute. I will miss your husbands and the conversations we have had over the years. I will miss you getting old and experiencing this beautiful change in life. I will miss my grandchildren and seeing the wonderful impact they will have on humanity. I will miss their beautiful hugs. I will miss being loved by you.

Lisa, with everything, I will miss your beautiful awaking each day; looking at you as I wake up every day has been a wonderful blessing. I will miss the sun shining on your lovely face and the calmness and tranquility you have brought to my soul. I will miss the sunrises and the sunsets we have shared together. I will miss the boat rides, the ski rides, the conversations about life, and the conversations about the life to come. We have traveled an extraordinary journey together. There has to be a word larger than love that can describe the emotions I am feeling; the tears that are streaming down my face right now are soaking my shirt as I write this. I will say, I love you!

So, now that you are reading this, I may or may not be here on this earth. I’ve worked hard to keep this story hidden in a safe place. By now, I’ve already told you all this, anyway. There is something about words that live forever and that is the point of this story. I want you, my girls, and my sweet Lisa, to go back and see my words and experience them over and over. When you get lonely or sad, or just need a word of encouragement, come here. You will now be able to see that I cracked the door to the emotions I kept inside of my soul, deeper that even I knew existed. You are my girls and I’m thankful and blessed. I have surrendered everything that I am to your love and to your beautiful grace. I love you! 

www.sandwestedit.com

 

 

Time, Love and Beautiful Hugs

 Time, Love and Beautiful Hugs

This story was not planned; this is a continuation of the previous story, Emotions. I’m not sure if I have ever had a story to follow another story, but here it is. 

After the exploration of emotions in the last story, I was not sure if I was ready for another adventure so quickly. My youngest daughter had decided that she and my three grandchildren were coming to the lake house for the weekend.

I arrived on Friday as usual, unpacked, and soon learned that my daughter was just minutes behind me. I was already exhausted from the week’s work and was unsure of how engaged I would be. I had not made that commitment yet. Much of my exhaustion had come from the previous weekend of emotional engagement with my oldest daughter’s children. 

What was I going to do? Some comfort came in knowing I had a therapy session scheduled for Monday. I was still very drained but willing to give it a go. 

They arrived, and we decided to get takeout at a local sub shop. Lisa and I went to pick up the order with two of our grandchildren; my daughter stayed at the house to take care of the baby. When they arrived, we greeted each other as usual with a very light hug, an almost side hug of sorts. That has been the norm for the entirety of our relationship, never much emotion, engagement, or connection. It’s really not them but the amount that I was willing and able to give; it was truly all I could give. 

I felt my heart was changing. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but things seemed different. Did last weekend have such a profound effect on my innermost being that changes were still continuing? I think so.

I was cautious and not sure that opening the door on these new emotions was such a great idea. The therapist had recommended cracking the door to see what pain or fear might be in that room of emotions. I wondered if it would turn into another emotional withdraw as it had for so many years. 

We talked as we drove to pick up the food, and as usual, it was just surface talk and nothing really engaging; I was happy with that at the moment. 

On Saturday, the boys arose and said, “What’s the plan?” To my surprise, they were ready for a day at the lake, and I was refreshed and ready to engage. We ate breakfast, and the plan was to hit the lake wide open, no matter what. I was ready to put forth an unconditional effort to show the boys that I love them, not by what I could buy them, but what mattered the most, time. Lisa kept telling me, “All they want is time,” and time is all I have.

So now, this is a week later and I’m back to finish the story. When I write a story, I usually sit down and write what has played out in my mind for weeks or for months on end. This story has brought up so many emotions that I had to take a break. I know this is an unusual writing style, but I always want the reader to be here in this moment with me. 

The boys wanted to go out on the boat, so we left the baby with Lisa. My daughter put on their life vests, and we headed out into the deep water where we could dive; the water is shallow at the dock. There was so much excitement in the boat; I was excited as well. I asked my daughter if she wanted to get a ski ride in because the water was smooth, and her answer was a quick, “Yes!” The boys enjoyed watching their mom rip it up, just like back in the day. Growing up, we spent most of our spare time on the water, and this is the very lake that I taught both my daughters how to slalom ski. 

I was getting emotional watching her ski and so many memories were coming back. After she got back in the boat, we joked about the falls, the injuries, and the soreness that would come in the morning. Such a wonderful moment to go back in time. 

The boys were getting restless and were ready to enjoy the water. The oldest is now twelve, his brother is eight-years-old, and the baby is a few months old.

I jumped in and they asked, “Can you touch? Can you touch?” I told them it was too deep; it was only about seven-feet deep. The youngest put his mask on, got on the boat platform, and looked down into the depths and said, “It’s ok.” 

They jumped off the platform, climbing in and out of the boat. In years past, I would have sat in the boat or on the side of the boat, just watching and observing, being careful with my involvement. Today, I was in the water with them, climbing in and out as much as they were, and jumping and diving. My oldest grandson asked, "Can you watch me dive and tell me how to do that?” 

My heart sank. Time, I thought, that’s all, just time. That’s where we were, on lake time. I gave a demonstration and then he tried his dive. “Perfect.” I said. “Let’s do it again.” We dove again and again. He was already an excellent diver; I was helping him with some pointers. My daughter asked me who taught me how to dive. With sadness, I said, “I don’t know.” 

Sitting here writing this today, I’m looking out over this beautiful place with tears in my eyes, wishing they were here right now; it’s so breathtaking. 

The youngest was doing some interesting and funny dives; he was making up dives he called the fish, the alligator, and some hilarious slides off the platform. He made me laugh. I was cracking the door and looking in these rooms of emotions and found that it was okay. It was okay to let myself experience these times, happy or sad; they were good. 

We had to head back in as the sun was setting, and we were all hungry. They kept saying, “Just one more jump, just one more dive.” We were having fun, and that’s all that mattered. I wondered what the night would hold, how I would sleep, and if there would be a rush of emotions that I wasn’t ready for in the dark of the night. Deep in my soul lies that child who has no memory, no emotions, and no love; these developmental years are missing. These children are teaching me these foundational truths, and they all start with time and that equals love. Time is love!

It’s never too late to start. I’m here to say that, and maybe that’s what this story is about. My oldest grandchild is twelve now, and it’s not too late; I will explain why shortly. 

Most of my family has been understanding with me over the years. My therapist has helped me gain new perspectives on my complex emotions and lack of development during my foundational years.

There are some in the family who don’t understand and that’s okay. They never had the struggles I’ve had. With that being said, every person alive has a struggle; we as individuals filter them out so no one else sees them. I know they are there; they are seen, and they will probably go to the grave with most. 

Later that evening, my wife and daughter were doing a puzzle; they love those things. Me, not so much. I have a hard enough time putting my pieces together! 

I was walking through the kitchen and just threw out a statement like, “Making progress; I’m making progress.” My youngest daughter doesn’t miss much, and as always, didn’t miss that either. 

“What are you talking about, Daddy?” 

“Well, I’m cracking doors and looking in, engaging and loving, and giving time unconditional.” I cried as I realized my heart was full, full of love of the time we all gave the boys that day. It’s not about what you have, but about what you have to give. All they want is time. It was no longer about me but me giving time and giving love. 

The next morning, we all got up and hit the water again, same as the day before but elevated to a new level. The oldest wanted to ski, so he got going. As my daughter was watching him, I could see her giving him instructions just like I did her back in the day. I cried, thinking that all I needed to give them was love and time. The youngest was cheering his brother on; he was so excited. When the boat stopped, he wanted to jump in again and again. I was all in at this point. We all dove and enjoyed the water, but it was time to go. One more dive, one more pencil dive, one more jump—this went on for a long time. 

We climbed back onto the boat dock. Then the boys jumped out of the boat, only to jump off the dock again and again with their goggles on, searching for treasures. My wife and daughter told me they were heading to town to do some shopping, and the youngest said he was going with them. The oldest asked me if we could take the canoe out for a ride. I agreed, but in my mind, I was wondering what we were going to talk about. What was this going to look like? We have never spent much time alone. We got in the canoe, and I told him we could fish around the docks. We took one fishing pole and one worm; you can see I had a great deal of confidence in our catching ability. We pushed off the dock, and we both paddled to the next dock; he cast over in the distance, under the dock, over the dock, and we still weren’t catching any fish. 

I told him we would go out into the deep water and see if there were any fish out there. A beautiful light wind was blowing. He cast behind the boat, and we let the wind push us. Then the fish started to bite; we caught a couple and were excited. At one point, I lost my balance, and I fell out of the canoe. We laughed so hard. We walked back to the dock and got back in, soaking wet. I was a proud grandfather. What a great memory we created. We headed back out and took more worms with us, but the fish were just too small to catch. My daughter and wife returned, and my grandson screamed out that we had caught some fish. We went back to the dock and told the story of the mishap, and we all laughed. Cracking that door wasn’t easy, but it’s all about time and doing things they enjoy doing. Time is love, and love needs time. No matter the foundation issues early in my life, it’s never too late and my experiences with my grandchildren are proof of that. 

As they were getting ready to go back home, the oldest came up to me and gave me the best hug I’ve ever had; the youngest did the same. They were the most embracing hugs I’ve ever had. Not just one hug, but many full on beautiful, loving hugs, meant to tell me thank you for the time and thank you for the love I shared; I know it was hard, but it’s okay. 

I came back in the house and cried as they pulled away. The moments with my grandchildren made me feel loved and blessed. As I watched the sun go down that evening, I relived every moment in reverse, wishing they were still there. The house has been quiet this weekend, but I know in the future it will be full of time, love, and beautiful hugs. 

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