Dandelions in the Wind

She fidgeted in the front row. He looked at his wife and after several "if looks could kill" glances, silently it was decided he would remove the distraction.

I was 9 years old and not handling grief well. I had silently struggled inwardly with anxiety and fear of the unknown as well as the inability to process emotional displays whether positive or negative. I did not handle either well which produced situational fear and flight or flight syndrome meaning wanting to run away any time anything upset me. And feeling trapped like an animal when I felt caged like I had to stay in a place or situation. And so rightly, so, having to sit in a pew during the Sunday before my Grandmother's funeral and feeling the stuffed down pain my dad carried, I instinctively had difficulty processing emotions at such a young age and so I suffered in silence as I felt trapped in that pew.

This sadness after seeing him cry left me with confusion. I did not understand loss and all that came with it. I did not understand how I could sit there with my siblings and parents as if nothing had happened. I did not understand ritual and tradition and I only felt like my heart was bleeding so much more profusely than the larger than life statue on the Cross behind the man in a robe who never seemed to take a breath or stop moving about the stage.

And so, we walked through a "much in need of repair" black topped parking lot. I remember meandering over to a circular drive with a long entrance but passed it by aimlessly then I quickly ran back to teeter tot on the curb with the goal of beating the clock which seemed to both of us to have stopped. I guess even at that young age, attempting to physically balance on a concrete curb to kill painful time somehow gave me some sort of empowerment even if it was merely brief physical control. 

In that split second between knowing I had misbehaved in the pew and realizing the man standing in the field close by and then beside me could no longer hold in tears, I instantly understood grief. At such a young age it was clear that my hurts and pain were real and that beside me was a man feeling the same excruciating longing to be free of the same sense of loss. The need to breathe and stop and just Be he shared with me.

We walked slowly hand in hand along the round railroad tie phone pole shaped wooden border of the field. We passed several tall lights planted in firm concrete which I remember peering at through my bedroom window at the bright glowing lights in the night after a snowy day. See, we always walked to church, either through the field or up the street. We lived that close to our church.

These lights were tall overhead in the sunny golden morning. I felt small beside him and his hands were big and strong in mine. I knew this new emotion he was allowing me to see was safe and inviting and something he trusted me with. Perhaps it was only in his vulnerability for missing his Mom that he allowed me in. I wonder now if God had allowed my weak state to give him a gift by allowing he and I some time to walk in silence and grieve together that day.

Soon we stood directly in front of the merry-go-round, the pavilion and swing set which proudly sat atop dirt and was surrounded by shattered beer bottles. I knew there were remnants of night time festivities and beer bottle throwing because as long as I could remember in the summer we would hear the parties only because it was too hot to keep our bedroom windows shut. This scene before us caught our gaze but not our attention.

For me it was not the playground which caught my eye. It was the tall grass which really was just weeds and the dandelion greens with wispy dandelion seeds atop feathery stems waiting for someone to blow them into the sky. He saw my gaze and went over to one and told me that we could send some seeds into the sky together. And so after a moment of gathering as many as I could (roots and all) I remember he told me to sit on his knee. He had provided a place of rest.

I felt comforted and cared for as we leaned in and decided on the best plan of attack to release as many seed parachutes as possible with our shared breath. We inhaled pure air and released the breath of life in unison. For a long time we forgot all that was left in that pew. The sadness. The loss. My anxiety at such a young age and feeling strange because I felt things a 9 year old had no business feeling. We blew more dandelions into the universe (which was only a mere 10 yards or so in a church schoolyard in Jersey) than a lifetime of birthday candles it felt like - because it was so peaceful. And the simplicity of it all looking back is because we focused on doing one thing and one thing only. We felt joy and release. We both felt this but never admitted as we did not need words to confirm we both felt free. I know this because I remember every second of our time together that morning. This feeling sticks with me like glue and I will never forget it - freedom from feeling captive and needing to breathe fresh air.

And so after we laughed and finished sending seeds into the air he unexpectedly cried again. Looking back now it felt like when it is sunny and then suddenly a rain shower shows up even while the sun still shines. He cried with me on his knee and it did not scare me anymore as I sat with hands dusted with earth. I cried with him and he shared how he felt. I suddenly understood how much he loved his mother and how so much I reminded him of her. He told me of me doing things I had done which made him laugh and things he thought she would have said or done. I felt special and proud in that moment. I felt needed.

I understood in that moment grief is deep and we need someone to share these thoughts with. It does not matter what we are doing or if we are doing anything at all. It just matters that we have a strong hand in ours and someone to share the tears. And then the laughter. And then the laughter in the midst of tears. For this is love and the perfect parallel of our father here on earth emulating our Heavenly Father who in turn loves his only Begotten Son. We have loss of tangible love and hope to share. We have a torch to pass if only there is one to hear and reach a hand out to accept.

I remember leaving that place and looking up at his face. He was at peace. He had a look in his blue eyes which mirrored my own and his eyes spoke more than anything he could ever voice. He and I had our moment in which we connected with God whom is Higher than all. God reminds us that even weeds have a purpose and tears are cherished. And seeds are planted in the most unlikely places. A reminder that there is always a strong hand to hold yours and a bent knee to give rest. 

Walking back into that church and sitting back in the pew, I know my Dad and I had church. We worshiped the Lord and put a smile on His face. He gave me a gift I will never forget. I will never look at a dandelion and see a weed. I see a world of possibilities and a seed to be sown. I see a beautiful display of God's creation. I see a golden morning waiting to be enjoyed despite shedding tears and a love so great that no one no where past present or future will be able to take away the gift of Father and Daughter. I knew love. He was standing beside me and is and ever will be - my Dad.