Monday, April 2, 2018

Only Anchors

I was only eight years old when you passed away and I wish I could remember more of you. Of course I remember our dinosaur-hunting expeditions, digging for worms and other awesome insects with our bare hands, eating pistachios and chocolate on the back patio after a hard days work, barbecuing freshly-caught fish on the backyard grill for our family to enjoy while partaking in yet another picturesque San Pedro sunset.

You also helped protect me from my parents during the times when they were angry and disappointed with me - I can still remember the sound of breaking bones, a broken nose and bloody sneakers... awkward family portraits filled with strife and unspoken animosity.

You and Julia were the anchors that kept me grounded while my family fell apart around me.

The one thing I cannot for the life of me recall is the sound of your voice; to this day I feel guilty about that fact because I really wish I could. Your presence provided this frightened little boy with a sense of sanctuary in the face of overwhelming adversity; in my later years I have found myself at times conscious of the desire to rediscover that feeling during some of my darkest moments, as a bulwark against these nightmares made flesh, these nightmares come alive.

But this morning, walking into the television room to find you sitting on the couch, reading the newspaper with Julia at your side...

It was the sound of your voice bringing me back home after all of these years, deep and warm and inviting and resonating and loving. The way, I imagine, a grandfather's voice is supposed to sound like:

"When you are reduced to living every day with the weight of your conscience on your back...just know it can be lifted, and you can be victorious in this war against yourself. You have the strength inside to turn this all around, Stephen. But I can only speak from experience - the rest is up to you. Whether you are stuck in the past or lost in the future...this is for you, kid. This is for you."

Thank you, Papa. I appreciate you dropping in to say hello. I wish you could have stayed a bit longer...but I know sometimes we don't get a choice in the matter, and I will never hold that against you.

I am a far cry from perfection but in the years since your passing I have learned to stand my ground. Through strength and through will and through unwavering discipline I am becoming what I want to be. I am becoming who I want to be. Some days I win and some days I come up short. But each and every day I get back up and I move forward.

And in that constant struggle I find and forge honor in your name. For you and those who came before me. You are the reason why I am here.

Only anchors can keep me from moving forward.

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