In Honor and Loving Remembrance of My Father

My father and grandmother, 1915

My dad, in the middle, at age 3, 1918

My father (on the left) with his parents, sisters, and brother, Orchard Lake, Michigan

My dad at age 29, 1944

My parents on their wedding day, June 25th, 1949

Our dad with John and me, 1951 and 1954

Our family, Christmas 1968

  Remembering My Dad

 

My father, John Ward Strong, died 46 years ago today. On June 13th, 1975, and just five months before Dad's death, my sons' father and I left Michigan and headed West to make a new home for ourselves. As Jim and I left the homes of our childhoods and ancestors, I did not know that I would never see my dad again. I didn't know that he and my mother would plan to vacation toward the end of the summer in Alberta, Canada. This was where he was bit by a tick that gave him Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. Two months later he was dead. My dad was 60.

So I am thinking once again about my father today. Missing him. Many thoughts and emotions and memories flowing through me. And I'm experiencing gratitude for all the healing work I have done over the years which has helped me come to terms with so many losses. In the breaking open of my heart, I have also come to recognize the many gifts that I have to be grateful for.

With my father, and beyond giving life to myself and my twin, I am most grateful for his kindness. Everyone who knew Jack knew him as a kind and gentle man. Yes, he had his wounds and the ways that he unknowingly neglected some of my deeper needs and those of my brother. Yet, my dad's kindness also permeated our lives and served to balance the violence of our mother and the trauma that haunted and harmed us all throughout my childhood and beyond. 

 

My father's kindness was one significant part of what saved my life. I couldn't imagine the resilience that has gifted me with the strength and commitment to healing the ancestral and cultural wounds to my heart and soul if it weren't for the depth of my father's capacity for kindness and even in the midst of so much trauma.

For many years now I have been aware that my dad lives on in me in the passion that began as seeds that he planted that are now in full bloom and growing more plentiful with each passing year of my life. This passion is for kindness. 

May we all plant and nourish seeds of kindness within ourselves and this beautiful hurting world we share. 

With love and blessings,

Molly