A Journey of Connection

 

Each meal beside this granite motif in my dining room reminds me that
I am woven into the fabric of my family and the wider world.

We all carry vivid memories of our parents, but how often do we retrace their footsteps and reflect on the ways we have grown alongside them? In today's world, finding the time, resources, and determination for such a journey feels like searching for a rare treasure. But can we make some connections to them? 

I want to say sometimes, “I’ve been inspired by my dad my entire life." ... 

Isn’t it a fact that something of our mom or dad is deep within us, no matter how hard we try to run away from it? That something we carry may be obvious only to another member of our family, who notices it and tells us about it. We may call it inheritance, heredity, or a DNA factor. But somewhere in our drops of blood, there linger our parents, that voice, that noise, their eyes, their smiles, their shadows, and their stature. Do those beckon us to remember our mom and dad? 

Someone might say, "My brother and I were both raised on our dad’s stories, and the adventure was always calling to me. I always wanted to do something similar, but I didn’t want to copy his journey; I wanted to make my own way."

One of the most important factors in all our lives is that we can never ever copy our parents’ journey, our parents’ story. Do we have to?  No... it is always impossible for each of us, as we have already made our own. Most of us have moved from our roots and planted ourselves in different gardens of life, nourishing and watering them from different streams and the earth. Still, there is that intangible connection between our parents and us. 

Recalling our bond with our roots and our parents is like resting beneath a tree: we see ourselves as a single leaf, joined to countless others by shared branches. We did not choose where we grew, nor did we earn our place. 

How can we forget the living connection to the trunk, the spirit that flows through every branch and root, reaching deep into the earth? 

Today, just as in days gone by, we find ourselves drawn to that tree, to the small leaf we inhabit, and to the way we have rustled in the wind, felt the rain trickle down through the seasons, been dusted by sand, and washed by tears and sorrow. 

I once said, “Each day, I woke with sunlight warming me and found rest in the dreams of the gentle shadow of the moon.” 

As we read, reflect, write, and wander, our thoughts drift toward our own legacy—the moments and journeys that have carried and shaped us, the paths we have forged beneath our feet. We have gathered the sunlight of life in our leaves, weaving happiness and meaning from its warmth. 

To remember our mom and dad is to re-member them to ourselves, to weave them back into the fabric of our being. Let us awaken the legacy that lives quietly inside us, eager to announce to the world that we are leaves on a magnificent tree. When our own leaves fade and fall, our story lives on in the fresh green of new growth. 

The story goes on.

FINE