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Remembering Dad

"Aletheia" is the Greek word for truth. I find it to be a beautiful word. Since I can remember, I have been allured by the pursuit of truth (or, at least some notion of it).

We can observe this word more closely by looking at its parts:

a- = not

lethe = forgetfulness, concealment

So here we see enclosed inside this curious linguistic specimen is the word "lethe". This happens to be the name given to the river of forgetfulness in the underworld.

The river Lethe.

A stream we plunge into as to forget all that we are, and all that we have ever been. And not just when we pass away, but frequently throughout our lives.

So many of us seem to have been swimming there. Unintentionally. But nonetheless, we find ourselves wet.

Perhaps lost. Disconnected.

However, despair not, for we have an antidote...

Mnemosyne. The river of remembering. This is also the name of the goddess who represents memory, and is mother to the muses.

The muses being different representations of the creative genius inside us that seeks to be expressed. Poets. Artists. Thinkers. Musicians. Dancers. Wisdom keepers.

Today, I embrace Mnemosyne as I remember my Dad.

Today, twelve years have passed since I held his hand and watched his consciousness slip into another dimension as it became free of the ills of its earthly container.

He's pictured here during a time before I knew him. A strapping young man beginning his adult life, full of hope and dreams, his genius very much alive. And his side burns remarkably dapper!

I've learned more about my dad since he passed away than I did over the 19 years I got to have him earth side. Dad is a big part of my why.

In the archetypal sense, he is a big part of many people's story:

A man who forgot who he was.

Not overnight. Just piece by piece. That's how it usually happens.

Unfortunately for Dad, his personal story ended there.

Back in 2017, I got home from work late one night and looked in the mirror. In that moment, I saw my forgetfulness. I saw a reflection of Dad looking back at me, tired, overworked, low on life force. Perhaps it was not even the mirror I was looking in, but the reflection of the Lethe as I peered down into it from the river bank.

Piece by piece, I had forgotten who I was. But now it was glaringly obvious to me.

And with that, I decided that I needed to remember. Not just for me, but for Dad, and for so many others who seek the elixir of remembering.

We all have beauty and magic inside of us. We all have a muse. Forgetting that from time to time is part of the human experience. A necessary part, I'd suggest.

So let us together recommit to finding, or perhaps remembering, our own truth.

This post is for you, Dad. Thanks for being a great journey mate all these years, and reminding me to remember who I am.


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