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While finally tending to the ancestral graves in Dunkirk this year, there was a seagull’s feather on that of my Grandparents on my Mother’s side. This has always been a sort of symbol or sign for me, but this is the only one I’ve ever seen that was really small. My instinct told me it may hail the rebirth of one of my descendants.

A few days later, I found myself sharing on Facebook the following …

It’s hard to just let people love you on their own terms. It may feel like heartbreak or unrequited when it isn’t as much or in a way you understand or crave. But I think gratitude is the right approach here anyway.
For example, I thought of my mother as a cold woman. I was angry with her for many years even after her death. But you know what I just recalled? Sandwiches. She made me sandwiches with so much baloney it would shoot out the sides when you bit them.
Most of what she did for me felt like nothing more than housekeeping, but I choose to believe that some of that effort was her expression of love for me. Perhaps it’s just what she was capable of giving, or the way she expressed love. Even if it was never shown in any other way, I can choose to be grateful for that.
We should be easy with ourselves, savoring what we achieved rather than wring our hands over goals we didn’t reach. Maybe we can practice that outwardly as well. No matter how much we feel others don’t appreciate us or our contributions to their world, every little acknowledgment counts. Even a quick, sincere smile is something.
Others may not have the time or attention you expect of them They may even regret it without you ever knowing. They may love you more than you feel, or at least as much as they are able, which may not be much. But that is their burden, not yours.
Understanding this may not change the way we feel. Or maybe it will. Again, I think practicing gratitude for what people DO give us, no matter how little, is the key.

Now in dreams, the persona of my Father has been appearing more than usual lately. Usually, it is accompanied, if at all, by the persona of my living stepmother. The last dream or two had him paired with my Mom.

Such things are so unknowable and subjective I will not comment further here, but I am finding a new peace in this with a narrative I may nonetheless choose to believe.