About fathers, heroes, love and patience
Heroes don't need to fix things. They support their loved ones in their growth and healing
What I hope for you, maybe the greatest thing that a father can hope for his son, is that one day you will become a father yourself. And then you will know how much I truly love you.
– Henry Allen, to his son, Barry, in an episode of The Flash.
WHEN I THINK OF BEING A FATHER and everything that means, I also think of . . .
Posted in: bipolar disorderdepressionforgivenessgenerositygrandparentsgratitudeheroesparentsthe flash
Take the time to consider time
We do more things. We have less time
Image: Kolbjørn Skarpnes & Rita Elmkvist Nilsen / NTNU & Kavli Institute for Systems Neuroscience. Shared under Creative Commons license
2020. A new year, a new decade. It sounds so futuristic to me! I remember when I was my older son's age, it was 1985. I was walking to school thinking what the world would . . .
Forgiveness is a powerful thing
I damaged a friendship beyond repair. Years later something wonderful happened
This post contains course language, vulgarity and sexual references. Some readers may find certain passages offensive and/or distasteful.
SHE WAS A LOVELY PERSON AND FRIEND. But I had wrecked our friendship.
By no means was it intentional, she was more collateral damage than anything. Caught in the wake of my manic . . .
This is where they used to live
I wanted to stand in the same space my parents and brother used to, so I knocked on the door
The moment I stopped perceiving time as linear, a new world arose.
I jogged toward the little red bungalow. A man washed dishes behind the kitchen window, his silhouette bathed in dim fluorescent light.
This was my parents' home in the early 1970s, before I was born. Mom and Dad pointed it out to me a while ago. At the time, I . . .
A homeless man gave me the gift of perspective
We live in such a connected world, but sometimes I feel it's never been easier to be lonely
The door opened to a sidewalk of slush and grey skies. I exited the bus, negotiated my way around some hurried pedestrians, then crossed the road.
I saw him, sitting on his corner. Bank Street and Albert, downtown Ottawa.
Ruddy, pock-marked face, sandy-brown beard. And a smile that stretched from ear to ear. Many people walked . . .
Posted in: compassiongratitudehomelessnessloneliness
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