How to Tie Your Shoelaces, 2024
This project is for my mom, who showed me how to build a home and what it meant to care for all that lived inside of it. For my mom who I watched learn about herself after she left her marriage to my dad. She wore bravery and pain as we scrubbed old floors new. She nurtured my soul and never left my yearnings unattended. She cared for my passions and raged with my anger. We met at the top and held hands when we needed to fall to the bottom. With photographs and stories, she created in me wonders of new worlds. Fear could never be a reason not to. That she made sure I knew. She let me leave home because she knew what it meant to need to go. Scared but brave, she helped me move far away and helped me plant roots of my own. Each moment when it is time to part, we cry we hug, but just for now. I love you even though I wanted to leave you. What a gift to visit. What a gift to get to say goodbye.
I suppose that every father wants to give his son some final words of advice before he leaves home for the last time. Or is it the first time? I always get these two things mixed up. I know it’s the first time for you. But it’s the last time for me. The problem is: what should we say? I'm sure that we all want to say something memorable during these final moments of goodbye. But the only thing I can think about right now is to remind you again about how to tie your shoelaces.
Excerpt of a letter to my uncle from my grandpa,
Dale Seddon
September 20, 1941 - July 26, 2023