Kite flying – Release

In my pictures of my dad is one with his back to the camera. It is there because of what you can’t see. Dad was flying a kite in the picture, holding that cord tight in hands that allowed the form of bright cloth and rigid bracing to soar above.

I have a kite that hangs in my music classroom. Though it has hung still for years, it once soared on the breeze. I still can feel the tug on the string as the wind whipped it high above me, a pin prick of vibrancy in a calm cloud-brushed blue sky. There is something about kite flying. Feet firmly on the ground, your spirit and mind seem to lose their gravity and soar.

Right now, I want to let my father soar. I want to do all I can to say my goodbye from here on the far end of my kite string, here in Canada while I struggle with the consequences of having not completed my paperwork to get across the border andten  back here to the job I am passionate about. There are times to hold on and time to let go. My father will not get past the pain that lessens his quality of life right now. The tumour will keep growing. He will keep dying slowly no matter whether or not I can get there to say goodbye. His mind tires now and his words become unclear. He has had a vision of heaven. He has said he is ready to go. 

And so I work throrough all  the things on my end that may hold on to his spirit here in an entrapping way. I stretch out each memory linking them to those that come before or after. Weaving, weaving a long chord.  I weave my memories of fishing, of his appreciation and encouragement of music in me, all the HMS Pinafore songs I grew up hearing, so many little things that are so easily forgotten in the hurts we allow to take front stage in our adult lives. I weave in the memory of trips to the island, of his passion for a just way to help people deal with their finances as a true financial manager, his passion for witnessing, his quirky humour that often hid behind a serious face. I weave in stories about being half of a donkey in an opera once,  stories of his dad and mom and trips to the house that help history of our family. I add his stories of his brother and Ray P and his pride of having been in the quartet the first time Ray sang for money.  I weave in conversations where he tolerated my questions that pushed beyond the specific verses that he used for teaching at times. I weave in the accomodation he made for me and letting me sing in that choir during high school even though it wasn’t something at our church.  In my journal writing and at the moments in the day or night when memories surface, I take a moment to weave them into a cord reaching higher than the clouds.

At times some of the hurtful memories rear their heads and insist on being heard so I listen. I untangle the knot in the string by acknowledging and relatesing the hurt or anger that had been buried inside. Where there were things that pointed to future healing, I kept the memory for future work while letting the anger go.

Slowly the line grows, stretching further and further into the sky, releasing my father to travel closer and closer to heaven. The final act will be between him and God. It will be his to loosen the string so that his spirit kite can soar on up into the heavens where he will rest. He will go to the place where all that was foggy in the mirror of our finite world will come clear. He will go where the things that were hidden and the reasons for events and actions will be understood. He will be free of judgments that are not based on the truth of who a person is deep within. He will see the Father who filled his life and heart in his adult years. He will see the Son he turned to for example inhis adult life.

I am kite flying. In the way I can, I am seeking to say all my goodbyes and release my father to a spirit breeze. He will know the time to let go of the end of that cord and the others from hearts that love him. For now our cords will support him as he gets the feel of the currents in the air.

When you are ready, dad, fly free. Thank you for all the good I will remember. The rest is released into the hands of the One who understands the heart. When you are ready, dad, fly free. You will not be forgotten.

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