All I Have is This

You know how when you start a new knitting project, and things are humming happily along and you're getting into the groove of the knits and the purls and the increases and the cables, and suddenly you go to pull a new length of yarn and you discover that you have started your project with the wrong end of the skein and now you have a rat's nest of a snarl, a knotted mess of gigantic proportions that  is going to take forever to untangle, and you wonder if it's worth just ripping the whole thing out and starting over from the right end, or if you should drop everything and take the time to unwind, untwist, unknot, undo that enormous mess you've gotten yourself into?

That's how I feel right now.

So many thoughts and ideas and emotions are all tangled up in my brain, and I have have the sneaking suspicion that I may have started out from the wrong end altogether.  Over the last few weeks, I kept thinking about ways to write about what's happened to me and my family, kept having ideas for this blog, but there is something very hard and cold and real keeping me from putting them into words. Real, typed-out words, that is.  I've written several blog entries in my head, but I just can't bring myself to put them on the screen just yet.  Maybe tomorrow?  Maybe someday?  Maybe never?  I want to tell you about mercy, about how I prayed and prayed and prayed for it, and how finally it came.  I want to tell you about how everywhere I went during those last few days I kept seeing beautiful hands.  I want to tell you about how courageous, and honorable, and generous, and funny, and kind, and full of integrity my dad was, and how Lance Armstrong is a lying, cheating, doping, narcissistic megalomaniac, and how death is maybe the last enemy, but it is no where near the worst enemy.  

But for the moment all I have is this: 

Goodness, I miss Dad.