There are moments where the grief I carry deep within me from the loss of my father is so overwhelming that every planned intention for that period of time must come to a complete halt.

These moments do not always occur when an image reminds me of him – like sitting in my car at the drive through window at the bank and admiring the bricks he lay with his hands.

They do not always occur when something prompts me to think of a memory, like the barking dogs that trigger the story of my dad in his slippers, in the middle of the night, on the three wheeler, riding over to the neighbors to do something about the neighbor dog, Cupcake.

It happens when I’m startled by how many days he’s been gone and I’ve realized that I’ve lost track.

It happens when I’m shaken at the observation that I’ve not written or talked with him in awhile.

It happens when I’m plagued by the fear that world will forget he was here.

He’s fading away I cry, farther and farther away from our view, like Jack in the Titanic floating away in the dark. Rose calling his name until her voice tires and all that is left is silence. And, she is alone for the rest of her life.

Yet . . . she lives on.

But, she carries with her a silent gift – a precious jewel – she wears it hidden, as a token of their love.

I keep forgetting, allowing my days to fill with meaningless fluffery. Forgetting that I promised to keep his memory alive. The documenting of his life, his influence, his legacy.

Perhaps, I’m just hearing now, that this task is not meant to be mine, but to ask for others to share their own tokens of his memory. To put them somewhere safe so all those who blessed to know him can remember him dearly, and keep his memory alive.

It began a year after he left us, the Tokens of My Father seed was planted. It slowing beginning to sprout, was dormant over the winter months, and with spring, my wish is for warm light from others to help nurture it’s growth. I can’t continue alone.

I am a good starter. Not so good at finishing.

Which in this case, I don’t intend for it to ever be done.

This token of stories to hold him near.