Alright, I'm Listening

The universe wants me to pay attention, apparently.

It's that time of year again... the anniversary of my father's death, several annual memorial events. I try my best to squelch the uncomfortable waves of grief that begin deep down in my core, to calm my latent dread; I wait for that day when it all lifts and I can look at a picture of my dad without the bottom of my stomach dropping out. Without holding my breath.

But reminders are all around at this time of year, even unexpected ones.

Yesterday, I helped Brady with a college class project. He had to produce a live video segment for his Video Production class and my friend Kristin and I were his guests. I interviewed Kristin on - what else? - unschooling, while Brady sat in the control room hoping his crew would cue the lights, cameras, and me at the right times. While we waited for our turn, we struck up a conversation with a young woman who was also waiting to do an interview. She mentioned she's from my town, so I asked her name. I didn't recognize it, but told her my name, including my maiden name, asking her if she knows any Flynns. She paused... "Well, I got the John Flynn scholarship last year, are you that Flynn?"

Wow. Tears welled. I sure am. I wasn't able to attend the scholarship presentation last year, and thus, hadn't met the 2nd year recipient. What amazing serendipity.

When I asked where she was going to school, she told her own tale of woe. She'd taken a year off after two of her closest friends were killed - in separate unrelated accidents - in the same week.

Today, another reminder to pay attention. Scrolling through my Facebook homepage, I spy a photo album posted by someone I don't know titled "John Flynn Memorial Tournament." This past weekend was the basketball tournament named in memory of my father. I took a peek, recognizing a few people, my brother included, when a picture of the trophies and plaque unexpectedly appeared - and on the plaque is a photo of my dad. My heart pounded.

I still have a DVD in my desk drawer - right here, not 6 inches away - of my father giving a presentation to the local Historical Society. A kind neighbor gave it to me shortly after his death, thinking I'd like a copy. It was a sweet gesture, but I can't watch that DVD. Seeing still photos of him is difficult enough. Seeing video of him talking? Breathing? Alive? Can't do it.

I know enough about universal messages to understand that I'm not supposed to be stuffing it all away, pretending it didn't happen, that today is just another day and March is just another month. I can run, but I can't hide.

I'm listening now.