Dear Friends,
Eight years ago today, my father passed away in Paris
I didn’t attend his funeral. I figured as long as I didn’t say goodbye to him, he was not gone. I observed some of the cultural mourning rituals; however I put my own spin on it. Instead of locking myself up and crying, I returned to work the following day. Instead of wearing black for a whole year, I wore black only for forty days; au lieu de holding a traditional somber gathering in his honour, I threw him a cocktail party. The enlarged beautifully framed picture that I chose to display amongst the tall black candles and the white lilies was of a young man I didn’t know.
I paid my respects without mourning him.
If what my father told me once that every time we think of the dead, we bring them back to life is true – my father is very much alive.
Every time I attend a family event, I throw in my purse a small locket that holds a picture of an older man I recognize. I take him with me to all the birthdays, graduations, weddings and family reunions.
Today, as I particularly think of my father, I’m grateful I had him for as long as I did. Although he lived in exile, I’m grateful he died a free man, in the city he adored.
Au-revoir Papa!
Have an unforgettable day everyone!
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