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26 May 2011


This amazing gift...

by Innerdialect

Bluebell WoodI wondered that Dad could heal so fast. Just like that...? He has this amazing gift and I thought to share. The ability to have no regrets. No matter what has happened. Even if it was your fault. Be deeply sorry, make amends the best you can, move on. Simple as that. Simple?

"No regrets..."

The toughest secrets of Life are, apparently, simple and yet if people have moved mountains, learned to ride waves, build castles on ruins, danced again on prosthetics...hey I am fumbling for words. If I were to confess, I have a whole stash of mixed emotions in my heart zones dating from kindergarten...people I still need to punch, half spoken words...

You know...

But my Dad, just out of hospital, his big brown eyes filling with light, iron grey hair, warm hands and smile, sits in his Den, re-working his violin. The bow needs fixing. 88 years old. No regrets except that the violin's been neglected. And the mandolin. And the mouth organ. In the corner I see the spanish guitar he made. And the electric guitar for his grandson. And the stand for the keyboard so Ma could reach it better, through the Spondylosis. Not to forget all the lanterns and chairs he made over the years. I remember my little green desk and small chair - that was when I was just a couple of feet tall and could not reach our dining table.

I know I could've made this a neater article. I am stumbling on those two words "no regrets". From a man that knows about betrayal and sacrifice, the loss of time and friends, even basics that others might take for granted. We lived in a little house by the beach and we felt like princesses. Dad and Mom taught us about words and books, music and picnics, hospitality and games, hammocks and little bed time prayers, forgiveness and joy, laughter in the morning. After the tears. Pets. People. Muttering out loud about things that irked. Yeah even that. Especially that.

Home made cakes and ginger wine; mango juice and guava trees; boat rides; village people and city slickers. You needed everything and, at the end of the day, slate wiped clean, turn in, say "Thank you!" Unconditional gratitude.

It kept the amazement going. It kept regret in its place. Or far away. Or buried it. I am trying to inherit my father's gift?

Painting: ©2011, "Bluebell Woods" by Tracie Koziura


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