Remembering My Dad

My father, John Ward Strong, died 41 years ago today. On June 13th, 1975, exactly 5 months earlier, 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 wouldn't 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 about my father today. Missing him. Many memories. Gratitude for all the healing work I have done over the years to help me come to terms with so many losses and to also recognize the many gifts I have to be grateful for.

With my father, and beyond giving life to myself and my twin brother, 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 and trauma that haunted and harmed us all throughout my childhood and beyond. My father's kindness saved my life.

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. The passion is for kindness. 

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

With love and blessings,

Molly