For days I’ve felt Father’s Day coming. And I’ve tried to conjure up a Father’s Day post, something sweet and reminiscent like I wrote last year. But for some reason I just don’t have anything profound to say. Nor anything less stirring. This year my mind can’t get around the fact that he’s not here.
He should be.
I should be able to give him a call, send him a card, even go for a visit. A couple weeks ago I did an interview and at the end the reporter asked me to send her pictures of me and dad. I realized I didn’t really have any of him and me together, just the two of us. I thought to myself that I should get a few taken next time I was home.
And then I remembered. Again. I have to keep remembering over and over and it’s just as painful each time.
I can’t make any more pictures. Can’t make any more memories. What I have is all there will be. All there will ever be.
I know I’m lucky that I have the vast number of memories and life experiences that our family created over the decades. Some people don’t have any memories at all. But I’m feeling greedy and wish there could be more.
He was a good man, a good provider, a good dad. He was doing the best he could to adjust to the loss of his life partner, my mom, when he was taken from us.
He should still be here.
This Father’s Day seems harder for me than most of the last twelve that our family has managed to get through. I don’t know why. But I know that tomorrow will be better. And I know we were lucky to have had him at all.
Still, I wish he was here today.