Mourning on Father’s Day

I lost my father a few months before my wedding. It was unexpected and absolutely devastating. Were it not for a wonderful friend who basically finished planning the wedding for me, I would have cancelled it.

I am forever grateful for her and that I have the wonderful memories of a beautiful wedding. My dad had helped pick the venue. He was so happy it had a dressing room where I could get ready. He helped pick the caterer and saw my dress. But most importantly, he knew my husband and was “tickled pink” when he asked my dad for permission to marry me. (My dad often joked that my husband is the only boyfriend they ever liked.)

My dad saw our first house and while he didn’t think we should sell it, I know he would appreciate all the moves we’ve made. He would be proud that we had the foresight to take calculated risks and have reaped great rewards. He would have shaken his head about the lemon of an SUV we once bought but he would have done everything to have helped fix it.

He would give me SO MUCH HELL for living on a golf course and not playing golf. I know that every conversation would have started with him asking how the snobby neighborhood is even though he would very much love the house for all the same reasons we do.

All of these thoughts bring me comfort, especially during the times when my grief overwhelms me.

I miss him all the time. But missing him through the eyes of my children is the hardest. I grieve the memories they do not have. No matter how much I talk about him or share stories of him, they will never know how wonderful his hugs were. How funny his stories could be when he would tell them.

He would have loved my daughter’s curious spirit. And my son’s mind is just like his. He would have taught him so much. They won’t have the family vacations, the Christmas mornings, the birthday parties, or having him cheering for them so loudly at their sporting games that they would turn red and want to crawl into a hole. (OMG, he used to embarrass me at all my games with how loud he would cheer.)

While I mourn the loss of my father for my children, they do not. They know I miss him but they do not have the grief or sadness.

I’m not sure how or why, but my kids are incredibly realistic about life and death. When our dog died a couple years ago, I was explaining to my daughter that Ginger would not be there when Avery got home from school. In her most matter-of-fact voice, my daughter explained that Ginger would be ok because my dad and our cat (whom had passed away a year prior) would be there to greet Ginger, so she wouldn’t be scared.

I was taken aback by her nonchalant statement. Should I be concerned by how easily she seemed to brush aside the death of a pet she has known and loved since she was born?

Or should I be comforted by her words? That our loved ones will be there to greet us on the other side. That our loved ones will always be there for us and that death is not the end but truly a homecoming. (How can someone so little have such wisdom?)

My little people sure do teach me as much as I teach them. I hate that there is so much they are missing without my dad here on earth but I know he watches over us. And I know he loves my littles just as much as me. Until we meet again, I love you Dad.