i blame netflix

it all started with cheaper by the dozen old school (circa 1950) via netflix.  a true american story.  and honestly, for as funny as the movie was, it didn't end well.  *spoiler* just silence on a phone line signaling the death of a father, sent my children into hysterics.  and it led to hours of stories about my dad and how his heart gave out just like mr. gilbreth's did.  and as my baby (i know.  he's five.) lay crying because he will never know his papa, my silent tears stung just as greatly.  and as i tried to comfort him, my thoughts went to my own grandfather who left this life so early in my childhood.  and i thought, even though i knew him and have my very own memories of him, i will never know him without the help of other people's stories.  and those stories come from angled points of view.  daughters.  wife.  acquaintences.  relatives.  i know that's the way for my boys.  they get to hear stories about their papa.  but they will never really know him.  and it's funny.  for as little as i knew my own grandfather, i still feel him in my heart.  and the memories i have of him live there despite his physical absence.  and i wonder if that love and yearning my boys have for the man they will never know comes from the great love he had for them.  that even though he is not on this earth, he left a distinct imprint on their hearts.  just like my gramps.

it's been a long time in the blogging world.  i hope some of you are still around.  we have been working so hard preparing for the spring horseshoe market, that blogging needed to go by the wayside.  it's always hard for me at this time of the year.  it's bittersweet.  i miss my dad as much as the day he left.  four years ago today.  my life would have been so different had he stayed.  but life does go on.  and things are as they should be.  i suppose.