The Part of “Love is the Middle” that I Can’t Read to My Kids

Luke Austin Daugherty & Dad, Joe Daugherty, in Sept. 1978

Luke Austin Daugherty & Dad, Joe Daugherty, in Sept. 1978

It is a hell of a thing to lose somebody you love deeply. And just with the passing of time, it doesn’t cease to be a hell of a thing. Time may knock the edges off of your hurt, but it never completely goes away. At least the hurt from losing my father hasn’t dissipated after six years. I don’t even think that is a bad thing.

I am very close to being finished with the final edit of “Love is the Middle: The True Story of a Father and Son.” For more information on the book, please visit this link to a previous blog: Love is the Middle: Thoughts on Finishing Draft One

I find that it is helpful when editing, not only to read the text through normally, but also once through aloud. Doing so, at least for me, forces a slower pace and I catch mistakes that I would otherwise miss.

With that in mind, I decided that for my out-loud reading of “Love is the Middle,” I would just read the book to my kids about a chapter per day over the course of a few weeks.As of today, we only have a few chapters left and I have enjoyed reading the story to them.

The chapter we read today was about when my dad told me that he had cancer and the three years leading up to his death. Reading that chapter to my kids, like several other sections of the book, was difficult. Since I wrote the entire book in a number of coffee shops, I was forced to visit many deep emotions in a public setting. It was one thing to write the book with all of my internal dialogue quietly being translated into text on a laptop by my fingers . But, I have found that vocalizing those same words to my children is quite a bit more difficult. I not only “think” the words, but hear my own words. The mere act of speaking some of the stories in the book versus only reading them has been quite a chore at times. But, I have managed through the book so far.

As I finished up today’s chapter, which included a story about the last full “normal” day I ever spent with my dad, reading became harder for me. Then, when I saw the next chapter to come, the one that tells the account of my dad’s death and the days surrounding it, I realized that I cannot do my duty tomorrow. When I only contemplated reading that chapter aloud, I quickly realized that it would be beyond the scope of my ability. Or, if not beyond my ability, beyond what I desire to do.

I suppose I will just let the kids read the rest of the book through on their own or perhaps my wife will read it to them. But, not me. It would just be too damn hard to speak all of the remaining words. Since I have not had much luck so far predicting how the book will hit me emotionally, I have no desire to break down crying like a child in front of my children. I think that would be the most likely outcome. Rarely do I hold back my emotions from my children, but some of them need to be for only me.

I hasten to complete and publish the book. I hope you will read and share it.

-Luke

The Sunday Sermon- Alan Watts: What if Money was no Object?

This is an ever-needed reflection from Alan Watts that anyone, regardless of faith system or no faith system, can find encouragement in.

So, what would you do if money is no object?

For more information on Alan Watts, click the link:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alan_Watts

What would you do if money was no object?

Alan Watts- “What would you do if money was no object?”

Also, if you were encouraged by this post, please pass it along 🙂

Have a great week, Luke

Caleb Doesn’t Judge- An Original Poem Typecast

A typecast picture of an original poem by Luke Austin Daugherty, called, "Caleb Doesn't Judge." Typed on a vintage Olympia DeLuxe typewriter with script font.

A typecast picture of an original poem by Luke Austin Daugherty, called, “Caleb Doesn’t Judge.” Typed on a vintage Olympia DeLuxe typewriter with script font.

This was a poem I wrote back in 2005. It was inspired by one of my twin sons, Caleb. I was practicing some of my songs at home before a concert and he just sat there listening intently and cheesing at me for a while.

I write most of my new poems on a vintage Smith-Corona Sterling typewriter. I thought that I would start to type up some of my old stuff on this other old typewriter, an Olympia DeLuxe, that my dad gave me some years ago.

Also, the paper that I used was a piece that I made by hand with a few of my kids using an Arnold Grummer Paper Mill. I think I might use some hand made paper from time to time. The only drawback is, not being perfectly white, correction tape will stand out like crazy. So, careful typing is a must! 🙂 Thanks for reading and as always, thanks for sharing! -Luke

The Whisper

Humanity is as the surface of a vast pond

Being visibly stirred and moved by the actions of individuals

As one passerby casually tossed a stone in, then walked away

I saw that the ripples continued long after he was there to behold them

Going this way and that

Expanding in influence from the place where they began

 

So my friend

Find the largest and best stone you can

And cast it purposefully into the pond

Let its ripples roll to affect

And to be affected by those of others

Throw it high, throw it hard

So that even after your tenure at the pond is over

Still its ripples will roll

And even in death

Your life will whisper

What you yelled

While your lungs still owned breath

 

Remind yourself today

That this will not be forever

Your transient and brief pilgrimage on the lively side of earth’s soil is short

And the length of its precarious song, uncertain

Yet, while you live, make yourself at home

Do your worst to do your best

 

In the eons that came before you

Nothing of you was known

But for now, you are

And when it comes that you are not

Let not the latter condition of things

Be as the state of the former

When nothing of you had ever been whispered

Leave not this world in an underwhelmed state

Or indifferent and unmoved at your remembrance

 

As surely as you are here now

You will not be in one hundred years

Do not hide your face from that fact

Or be afraid to face it

This is the common story of billions who have passed

It will be for the billions who live now

And for billions more who will be born

 

Every one of us is not but the whisper of the century to come

Let us treat the world kindly while we live

So it will whisper kindly of us

When we have turned to dust

 

Copyright 2013-Luke Austin Daugherty