Category: Writing

May 14, 2017

This Year, I Own Mother’s Day

Bent Rib drawing by Marika Reinke 2015

This year, I own Mother’s Day.

It used to be about others; my mother, my kids, the mothers I know and many birthdays. I let the day pass without a thought but a card, a few texts from friends and some flowers for my mother. It was an afterthought; “Oh yeah, I’m a mother too.”

This year is different.

This year it is about me. I accept that I am thoroughly, totally and bone shakenly a mother. It has taken me 11 years to consciously get it.

Why so long?

I’ve been busy figuring out motherhood while simultaneously being in denial and clinging to the remnants of my past life. Apparently, I’m a slow learner.

I have been surviving; occupied with the daily, physical and psychological tasks of being not only a mother, but a wife, a colleague, a teacher, a leader, an employee, a daughter, a traveler, a sister and friend. Amongst all this, I didn’t quite realize I had transformed into a mother, if atypical.

Add to that that I’m a whole bunch of “nots”.

I’m not amazing. I’m not super woman. I’m not loving, ever-giving and kind. I’m not the mother in flowery greeting cards with perfumed and pink envelopes. I don’t bake cookies in a flowered apron. I dislike pink for what it stands for. I don’t know ego-less love. I’m not an archetype. I am not always there for my kids. I’m not a perfect role model. I’m not like other moms.

I admit, sometimes I swear in front of them. I definitely get mad at my kids. Sometimes, I put myself on time out so I won’t scream what I want to scream. Sometimes I yell anyway. I have endless guilt. I fear I will ruin their lives. I’m sure I will ruin their lives.

I am an anti-mother. I’m hard on my kids. I push them and sometimes I make them uncomfortable and cry. I have been honest and direct with them, choosing truth over comfort even when it made them tense. I have given them cupcakes for breakfast and stolen their Halloween candy. I have been inconsistent, kind and ruthless. I have been selfish, selfless, loving and cold. I have failed my kids individual needs. I have given my kids what I needed. I unconsciously and always put my family first even when it wasn’t for the best. I am a fierce fighter. Do not stand between me and my kids. I will not be soft, kind, graceful if you do. I will not hesitate to use my fists if I have to. Write that on a Mother’s Day card and make it black.

And there is this…

I tell my kids that their job is to make me happy. I tell them that other parents don’t love their kids as much as I love them because I don’t let them (fill in the blank). I tell my son he is nagging and needs to work on better strategies for managing his boredom. I tell my daughter her organization skills suck. I tell them that fair is a fairytale.

I tell them they are perfection. I tell them I’m so grateful for them. I love them, passionately and deeply, every single day.

I have been physically transformed by them, my hips are wider, my breast varying shapes and sensations from them. I have a bent, sometimes achy rib from my son’s pregnancy. I endured the richest and most deliberate pain giving birth to my kids. I experienced crazy, irrational love, exhausted relief and accompanying rage. I have not enjoyed sleep as luxuriously as before motherhood. I have been in the worst shape of my life after their birth.

Motherhood almost took my life after a black and bloody miscarriage. I sobbed silently, numbly and uncontrollably in the recovery room after an emergency DNC. It scared my husband and I intensely. A byproduct of motherhood is that it can kill you.

I have been isolated by motherhood. I lost friends as I learned to mother. My energy to give generously to others waned. As my social world collapsed into hyper-focus on two little souls, I became a shitty friend. I became a crappy daughter that desperately didn’t want to become my mother. I am a strange mother, an outsider with parenting quirks. I chose natural childbirth, breastfeeding, a career throughout and I believe nurturing looks more like tough love than coddling.

Motherhood was a 9.0 earthquake to my marriage. Now, it is rebuilt and an unrecognizable form. I almost can’t remember what it was.

I’ve not paid attention to Mother’s Day because I’ve been so busy picking up the pieces of my identity since it rocked us.

It has been my dirty, messy, disturbed hero’s journey not into spiritual enlightenment but into grounded and unhinged motherhood. Not a cycle, not a pretty path, not a journey into something better but a journey into furious acceptance, a rich relationship with anxiety and fear and a deep, layered and textured understanding of love.

I believe…

Motherhood happens to a mom. Mothers do not courageously lead families. These kids and their experiences, they choose us as their adventure. We manage the damage as it occurs.

I have learned deep lessons. The hardest and longest ones of all have been about having compassion for myself. Compassion for my kids, that is easy.

The best thing so far; I removed the expectation that I control my kids character or destiny. Barring the crazy mind blowing miracle of pregnancy, I don’t make them into anything. I can set up a framework; schools, activities, communities, nourishment, vacations, and most importantly a clear understanding of my views and values, that they work within and then I let them go.

They teach me. It is a deep truth. I must be a better person because of them. They lead and I follow. I survive. I am molded. I will never return. Motherhood defines me.

I own Mother’s Day, and it is everyday.

April 30, 2017

A Legacy… to me

There are people that are always giving. The kind of person who stops what they are doing and very gently focuses all their attention on you, because, you are there, and obviously important. That kind of full service attention is special and rare. It is expressively loving. These people are always curious. Flowers are always beautiful and time worthy, the birds, even a common finch, is interesting. A book arouses their interest and they begin to read it… right now. A restaurant, a new local discovery and adventure or faraway travels are compelling too. These people are open about their experiences; ugly, dark, complex, beautiful and true and they are kind with how they give these stories to you and for you because our stories really are our gifts to people. They practice compassion, not perfection, to self and others.

The world is lucky for the many people here like this.

I had a person like this in my life at a pivotal time. She was a lovely neighbor and my first close friend outside of my generation. A grandmother to my daughter’s best friend and old enough to be my own mother, but a far different history than mine. She had an artist soul, loved nature, worked steadily for the environment and loved her family so gently it felt fierce. I admired her character and her spirit. She aged well and unlike many, she wizened as she aged.

Then she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer and slowly moved more inward, not less kind or compassionate, but her fight and temperament made her more intimate about how she shared herself. Death is a burden to all who love the dying, and the dying feel this, heavily.

She loved that we were moving to Costa Rica. When we came back last Spring, I saw her briefly and she was kind though withdrawn and tired. Then last August she died with her family nearby. I heard the news from Guatemala at the time, and cried a few times. I learned that death makes me homesick. Shortly afterwards, I booked tickets for us to visit Seattle in December and here we are still, happily.

I had the opportunity to stay in her house for a weekend recently and at first I resented the memory of her. It made me sad and restless. I felt like I didn’t belong there. Then I let it wash over me. Her house is so full of her spirit. The art on the walls, the books, the office space and the magnificent garden are all whispers of her. I want to be a 70 year old like her.

Her partner encouraged me to go through her art supplies and take what I wanted. She would have wanted someone to have them who loved art as much as she did. I do not know if I loved art as much as she did. Really. But I am honored and humbled to have her art supplies now. I will be lucky if I walk a similar path as her legacy. I will think of her with love as I paint.

June 15, 2015

How to Make Magic: A Primer in 6 Steps (Part 3 of 3)

Don’t worry, I did not forget about Magic. Never. I’ve said it before, magic takes time, patience, investment and belief. I’ve been working on all these things myself. I hope you have to.

If you did forget, here are posts 1 and 2. They are critical prerequisites to reading Part 3.

Now that you have been working on a strategy and guiding your belief. You are ready for the last and most challenging steps for creating magic. Steps 4 – 6.

Step 4. Act and Learn

This is the critical hard and easy part. NOW you must do what you say!

No one is going to give this idea to you. You will have to give this idea to the world. Do this as if your life depended on it. Because it does.

All ingredients to our potion are critical. Add Share and Act. You must.

I know this is scary. People will laugh. You will be rejected. You will not believe. Definitely, not everyone is going to agree. Your family will not think it is possible. Some people will make you really, really angry.

That is okay. You can survive these things. None of them are lethal.

Your greatest teachers are Rejection and Fear. They will lead you to your goals. They will teach you to appreciate your successes and fine tune your idea.

Here is a secret…

Having an Idea is like being a parent or gardener. An idea is born, you raise, nourish, teach and mentor this little being, from infant to adult.

Then you must let it go.

You can no longer protect it. It must go into the Sea of Big Ideas.

The Sea of Big Ideas is what defines the world. It is a swirling with ideas and people, just like you! And some of those ideas are really big, really old, really scary. Some of those people are too. But there are also really friendly, creative, delightful ideas here and there are really wonderful, amazing people here too.

This Big Sea of Ideas creates forces. Forces are made because an idea has power.

When you put your idea into the Sea, these forces will push and pull on your idea.

You must be flexible! Stay true to your idea and watch these forces. Determine if they are useful or corrupt. Be thoughtful and patient as you test your idea. Observe. These forces are complex and surprising. They can help you as much as they can hurt you. Learn from them.

You are an apprentice so be prepared. The first time in the Sea of Big Ideas unexpected things will happen, some good and some not-so-good. These forces are unpredictable and much bigger than you.

But always, remember your vision. Pay attention to this and learn. What needs to change? What can you improve?

Step 5: Create community

You will begin to notice these forces pushing and pulling, accepting and rejecting your idea, providing feedback and influencing you are just collections of people who believe in ideas.

Remember: It is people who give ideas power.

That is all. That big scarey idea called capitalism – its’ success is determined by the multiptude of people that believe in it. Powerful ideas are empowered by a collection of people.

Your idea needs people. It needs community.

You must recruit people that believe in your idea. The more people you recruit, the more your idea will grow and the closer you will come to magic.

Remember: there are many forces, ideas and people. Some of them don’t want new ideas. Some people have ideas that make it impossible for your idea to happen. Some people will be grateful for your idea. Other people will need to hear your idea a few times and a few different ways. Other people will hate it… always. They will always hate it.

It is nothing personal.

Identify the people and forces that make your idea stronger and the ones that make it weaker. Focus your energy on those that will grow you and your idea. Enlist them, love them, nourish them.

Community and learning will feed your idea.

Step 6. Persevere & Persist

You have a timeline in your plan. Remember those forces pressing on your idea? They have different plans than you and there is nothing you can do about it. Your plan may speed up or slow down because of them. But that does not mean that your idea is not possible.

You need steps 1-5 to create momentum, your need this final step to tend to your momentum. Momentum is invisible. Believe that momentum happens as strongly as you believe in your idea. As long as you persevere and carry out your plan, you are creating momentum.

Momentum leads to magic.

Keep your Idea in the Sea. Keep talking about it. Keep asking people to nourish it. Keep asking for help. Keep rewriting it, repackaging it, redesigning and re-communicating it. Keep learning.

Keep your potion brewing. It is working.

Time is your ally. Your idea will collect people. It may become larger than you. It may completely change, just like you.

Keep going back through the steps 1 -6, this is a circular and iterative process. There is no such thing as a straight line in a magical world.

Remember, this is magic. This is going to test your belief. And if you don’t believe me, go back to Step 1. You Must Believe.

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June 9, 2015

A Beautiful Mind

I dislike the word “disabled” and the word “disorder” is just as bad. These words focus on the many ways someone is not <some “normal” trait> which can be fairly translated as not mediocre. Words like “disabled” and “disorder” reveal weepingly dysfunctional thinking. Sadly, they are hurtful. Yet they are institutional terms we pretend are stripped of emotional impact.

Why focus on “not”? Why not reveal the strengths and nuance? Why not celebrate not mediocre?

So it is with dyslexia which at root means having difficulty reading. Many of you likely believe that it means someone who has difficulty keeping words still on the page.

What is not well known is that this common assumption is not always true and more interesting is this difficulty keeping a word still on page is a symptom of a fascinating, beautiful, amazing talent.

Research has emerged that dyslexics are particularly advantaged in a bouquet of abilities and one of them is three dimensional spatial reasoning. A high percentage of architects, engineers, artists are dyslexic (Leonardo DiVinci was all three and dyslexic). They are genius visual thinkers.

The problem: a word on a page is two-dimensional and highly symbolic. A dyslexic intuitively seeks to understand the word by picking it up with his/her mind, turning it around, understanding it on a contextual three-dimensional level. This strategy works in almost any other context but symbols on paper. And this strength, that will help a dyslexic excel in construction, sculpture, problem solving, visual reasoning, creativity, management, advanced mathematical concepts and even planning will only send them down the path of failure at a traditional school.

Disabled is not the word I would use to describe a dyslexic. Perhaps it suits the education system better. It is certainly not a just system.

Those strengths are not assessed in school but in the real world, watch out. A dyslexic will score 30% higher on a creativity test than a “normal” person. 35% of entrepreneurs are dyslexic. Some of the most creative thinkers and leaders are dyslexic; Einstein, Henry Ford, Charles Schwab, Winston Churchill, Ann Rice and John Irving. A blind sample of the population, regardless of gender or culture reveals that up to 20% of the population is dyslexic. (See Reading List below.)

My son is dyslexic.

This also means he is a right-brain visual thinker with weak neural circuitry to his left brain language processing center. He is six and in kindergarten. It is a research-bound fact that if he is taught with a functional multi-sensory explicit phonics-based teaching approach now, he has a high chance to learn to read just as well if not better than his peers. Currently, schools tend to eschew this method because the assumption is it isn’t fun, familiar or popular though more children can learn to read and become better spellers with this method.

So, if your learning style isn’t fun, you are out of luck? And the “disorder” award goes to…?

Most importantly, a dyslexic mind is a Beautiful Mind.

A Beautiful Mind (c) Marika Reinke 2015

Three 10″ x 7″ Watercolors (c) Marika Reinke

Achingly so.

It is a world of exploding visual imagery. It is a space of diffuse connections, creative problem solving, intuition, enhanced awareness and rapid analysis. But it is a wordless, though not silent, world. A dyslexic does not reason verbally. Words come later on, after the unfolding imagery has revealed sometimes astounding insight.

A Trapped Word

A Trapped Word (c) Marika Reinke 2015

It is difficult for a dyslexic to access the right word while speaking. The clutter of visual imagery, the diffuse connections stall the verbal processing and the neural connection just isn’t as tight as the images, sounds, emotions, patterns that are dancing in their thoughts. A word is trapped. It can not come loose. But don’t mistake this for a still mind, this mind is dancing in the jittery shadows, clutching its fluid jail bars and searching for a pattern to un-rip and let loose the word.

A Word Unraveling

A Word Unraveling (c) Marika Reinke 2015

This brain will always process words differently. Because a dyslexic’s strength is diffuse connections, every word is layered with an explosion of meaning. Not just synonyms, but pictures, experiences, sounds, patterns, physical feelings and emotions. The word unravels into an explosion of possibility and meanings. A mind capable of turning over so many possibilities means a deeper understanding of a single word. The trade off for a deeper understanding is speed, reading will often be slower, but comprehension is so much richer.

An Intuitive Leap

An Intuitive Leap (c) Marika Reinke 2015

Because the gift of dyslexia includes a rich internal visual reasoning capacity, a dyslexic will often come to amazing intuitive conclusions that reveal a rich and complete understanding as well as astounding creativity. These insight can appear like flukes, because to us this mind can’t seem to properly verbalize or read a simple word like “it”. But they are not flukes. They are the result of complex and rapid processing undefinable by words. They are the result of a thinking system unrestrained by the limits of symbolic and analytical language.

My Son and I

My son continues to inspire me. I’m so thankful to have identified this early. More importantly, I’m grateful for what he teaches me about the brain, creativity, intuition, problem solving and teaching. And Love.

These lessons are gifts as beautiful as his mind.

BUY HERE

Buy A Beautiful Mind here.

The Original A Beautiful Mind is available for sale as a triptych (all three): $350
Prints of All Three: $75
A Single Print of one of the three: $35
5″ x 7″ Cards are available to order. Pack of 10: $35. Please specify if you want the triptych or a single image.

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REading List

Following is a list of books I’ve read and that provided the much of the background, research and facts expressed in this post.

Overcoming Dyslexia: A New and Complete Science Based Program for Reading Problems at Any Level by Sally Shaywitz

The Dyslexic Advantage: Unlocking the Hidden Potential of the Dyslexic Brain by Eide, Brokck & Ferentte

The Gift of Dyslexia: Why Some of the Smartest People Can’t Read… and How they Can Learn by Ronald D Davis

June 3, 2015

Resistence

Steven Pressfield Quote: The War of Art

Steven Pressfield’s book “The War or Art” has been on my to read list for a few months. Reviews are powerful and even transformational.

You know those days when you just can’t pick up a paintbrush? Can’t focus? Wonder why the hell you choose such a difficult career path? And you think just about anything else would be easier than this thing that would let your soul sing?

So you start to run down that “easier” rabbit hole?

This is Resistance. Ultimately a destructive force, the yin to our creative yang and your biggest enemy.

I’m not far through this book and it is unlocking a lot of meaning for me. It is a book to savor, highlight and reflect upon.

I already highly recommend it for anyone struggling to find themselves in any art or transformational endeavor or those of us just living… and living… and living.

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May 27, 2015

Draw a Blank

Truth: An artist comprehends no separation between art and life.

But recently I learned that I subconsciously regard aspects of my art as separate.

I have told myself this: Writing is not painting. But writing is most definitely art.

In this way…

When I decided to take the leap of faith and become a painter, I let go of others’ judgment and my worry. You know, that little voice that wants to please and seeks praise? I threw that out the window. It does not help the artistic process. Truth: I have an unique artistic voice that is not for everyone and that is the nature of art.

My paintings touch people and some people profoundly. I focus on this. When I paint for someone or some theme, I do my best to put their skin on and see the world from their perspective. The painting should be profound for that person or theme. If it touches more people in the process, that is a lovely side effect.

Paintings are an expression that creates meaning, relationships, and ultimately expand our understanding of life. Mine will do that for a few or many. But not all. Ok. I accept this and let go of worry.

When I handed “A Healing Place 2” off to my client, she stood in her living room and announced that she was going to read the story card aloud to her daughter and husband.

A Healing Place 2 In route (c) Marika Reinke

“Ack!” I choked and covered my face. I had a mini-panic attack right there. I wanted to run.

It was a Moment of Truth. A Teachable Moment.

Here on this blog and in all my marketing attempts I have exposed (one aspect of) my artistic soul in a gallery of public paintings and processes. I have no panic attacks. It is a struggle but ultimately I trust myself here.

But in that moment I could not listen to someone pronounce my words. I wring heartache into writing. I did not want to hear it and be faced with a critique.

Some damage, huh?

Writing is a cracked and bleeding medium for me. This is a revelation. I have been manipulating words and hiding behind the painting, a coward. Writing and I have a long history, longer than painting, but before I knew how to protect myself from all the real, imagined and self critics. It is my first love saturated with juvenile expectations and painful miscomprehensions. It is riddled. A puzzle of meaning and pain.

I need to get over it. If there is something my painting can teach my writing, this is it.

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May 20, 2015

A Place for Peace of Mind

“Work-In-Progress: A Beautiful Mind” (c) Marika Reinke

Yesterday, the Seattle Schools District teachers walked out (as they should) to demand the money that was voted to be allocated to K-12 schools and has yet to appear. Please don’t get me started on this. I worked at a community college for long enough to understand the politics of this travesty. Political excuses aside, it is a travesty that the United States literally values its public education with a minimal budget, resources and outright condescension. Our under-funded school system may be the root of the demise of this country in the long run.

The point is that the kids were home all day.

Thankfully, we are reaching a parenting milestone and turning point. The kids are old enough to entertain themselves especially with the neighborhood kids over.

And I could work.

I love that I have a studio but it is located in a far away corner of the house. For all their independence, I feel better being able to hear my kids chattering, thumping and screaming. I just can’t do that in my studio.

So I brought my laptop into the dining room and dedicated the day to getting sh*t done. Literally, the stuff on my list I really don’t want to do – the dreggy, non-creative, linear, detail oriented shi*t. This is what grading is to teaching. Generally, yucky. And though many of these items have been on the list forever, I have not been able to focus on it. My records are a mess, my mailing list is scattered everywhere, my website is not cohesive and makes no sense for e-commerce. I have no idea what I’ve posted anywhere.

Usually, when I sit down to address this problem, I space out and forget what I’m doing.

But not yesterday.

Yesterday, I got sh*t done. I got a lot of it done. More than I have in a long time. I felt so productive it was like I was back at my old job, cranking out the high volume grading and lesson plans.

And the difference? The dining room. Or more specifically, not being in my studio.

My studio, is my haven; my place to forget words, hear my heart, listen to pictures, lose time. It is a place where I don’t look at where I am, but what is inside. It is a place that lures me. My most recent work-in-progresses whisper at me, they work at me subliminally. When I’m still, I’m working in my studio. When I’m staring at my database, I’m working on a painting.

The studio is not a place to get sh*t done.

A lesson well-learned.

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April 30, 2015

A Dead Plant is a Reminder

Today, I found my almost-6-year-old son on this ledge worriedly kneeling over a plant. He turned to me and pointed at it.

“What happened?” He asked.

“It’s dead. Daddy killed it.” I said. I’m sorry Dad. It was a flippant response. Dad has an amazing green thumb. This spot has been a difficult gardening space and the plant has been dead for 6 months easily, probably longer.

I did not expect my son’s response.

Daire choked up and fought his tears from spilling over. He wiped them away, trying not to let me see.

He has teared up like this before. Recently, I described Mt St Helens eruption. We watched a short video and his tears let loose as he learned 57 people died, all the animals gone and the trees completely blasted down. The story hurt him the way it hurt the earth.

It concerns me that he doesn’t want me to see the tears. I gave him a kiss and told him that I loved how much he cares. He leaned over and hugged me, a wonderful vulnerable moment shared openly.

“Do you know what happens when we die?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“We become a part of the world around us. When I die I will become a part of you, and Dana and your favorite places on the earth.”

He nodded, thinking.

“I don’t think it happens that way.” He said finally.

“What happens?”

“I think we get old and then we die, then we are born again.” He nodded firmly, very confident.

“Yes. I believe that happens too. We become new beings.” I paused. “Is that sad or scary?”

He was still fighting his tears but he said “No.” Nothing more.

But it is change. Monumental, unstoppable, life-altering change.

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April 27, 2015

Vacation Hangovers and Work at the Speed of Life

Poolside

I live for family vacations. Time with my family is life-giving and I love getting to know my kids 24/7. This time I watched as my son flourished in the pool and kicked his swimming skills up another notch. My daughter continually warms us with her love of nature and animals, she explores both thoroughly.

Playing on the beach at Playa Tamarindo

I love Costa Rica too. It is a magical place. It slows me down to the rhythm of my heartbeat and I settle into the slow pulse of the blood in my veins. A wonderful slow dance.

Playa Conchal

It was hot in Playa Potrero but we had a pool, great whole food, awesome tropical fruit, met some wonderful people and enjoyed some beautiful beaches nearby. We didn’t move fast on this vacation, some mini-golf and horseback riding for the kids and pure relaxation for everyone.

My loved ones riding to Playa Conchal

I’ve been back since last Monday. The journey home was tough: delayed departures, delayed arrivals, missed connections, lost baggage, taxi drivers that wouldn’t take our fare at 2 am and a 3 hour drive home from Portland in a rental car for lack of better alternatives.

And now…

Seattle has a different speed that I find difficult to adjust to. I’ve felt a little down and lack energy from plane rides, a stressful return and change in weather and food.

But also…

Here, I’m being pushed forward at life speed. Things move differently here.

But I’m grateful. Seattle has given me much to report and prepare for! Aside from having a commission already lined up upon my return the following happened:

News #1. I’ve been accepted into a juried art fair Art in the Park at South Lake Union on May 7th from 11-6. I’ll be posting more about this shortly.

This was awesome news already but this weekend, this happened:

News #2. The Northwest Arts Alliance has picked me as their featured artist for May! Yes, I’ll be featured in their May newsletter and in marketing for the South Lake Union Art Walk coming up on May 7th. Already, this site is getting a lot more hits on my gallery and shop, thanks to a preliminary post on their site. What will this bring? The news was entirely unexpected.

It is bittersweet, but for now I bid Costa Rica goodbye to don my many work hats. I’ve got a lot to accomplish in a week and a half.

Farewell Costa Rica, until we meet again…

Another day sharing the road with cattle

Playa Potrero, the beach is all to ourselves

Loving coconut

Love

for the serious seashell collectors

we all worship the sun

Playa Conchal

Blue

Dana riding to Playa Conchal

That’s a howler monkey

March 15, 2015

Spare Change and Legacies

My father, who died 17 years ago, used to keep a 5 gallon water jug for spare change. It was a way of saving, a game and my confession: my brother and I used to “steal/borrow” from it as children.

Dad wanted to see if he could fill it up but he expected to live much longer than 49 years…so he didn’t. And our sneaking didn’t help his goal, the quarters disappeared fast.

After he died, my mom kept it and added a little to it over the years.

Today, she handed it over to our kids; a heavy bowlful of change that can’t be counted in one sitting. It is a gift from a ghost and from a time when having kids were little more than maybe a thought to the 23-year-old me.

My kids are through-the-roof excited.

Dad touches them, with a small habit, very tangibly right now like a small bit of time travel. I’m happy he could give them something they feel at this age, a small brushing of souls.

He touches us in many unseen ways too.

And maybe he meant to save the money for them and maybe he didn’t. I don’t know.

But legacies play this way. We think we know what we leave behind, but we don’t. We just do our best and leave it for the people left behind to make meaning of it. The meaning making is our legacy.