Father’s Day

Father’s Day was this past Sunday, and it was a hard day.

As I mentioned in my last post, my father was murdered almost three years ago. Holidays like his birthday, Christmas, Thanksgiving, and my birthday are really tough, but it is especially difficult to make it through Father’s Day. Everywhere you turn, various calendars, store shelves, television commercials, and restaurant signs remind you of your father’s passing. It makes you want to hide and skip the day all together, at least that is how I usually feel.

I know I am not alone, and I suspect that it feels similar for those who have had a father die from other causes or have never met their dad. You miss your dad, or who he should have been in your life. I miss my dad too.

This Father’s Day, I decided to keep myself busier than normal. My husband, two younger children, and I went to church, where the focus was more on God being our father than our earthly fathers. I will admit that I was relieved to not stare at a tear-jerking video about dads, which was a possibility that almost made me skip church altogether. Then, we ate lunch with our oldest daughter and drove to our friends’ house in the country.

Still trying not to miss Dad, I helped my friend, Carolyn, pick produce from her garden. We finished in her garden, and I decided to do something to honor my dad, go fishing. I had brought a few fishing poles with us in case I wanted to go, mentioned going several times, but was not sure if I really wanted to go. Normally, I really enjoy fishing; it was something I did with my dad and sisters when I was a little girl.

Now, the idea felt empty, but I went anyway.

We went down to the creek and fished for over an hour. It just wasn’t the same. I wanted to turn to my left and talk to my dad. I wanted to hear him tell me to be quiet so the fish would bite. Instead, I kept telling my companions to keep their volume down. I wanted to watch him slowly cast his fishing line into the murky water and methodically reel it back in as he caught his first fish of the evening. Instead, I cast my reel and caught nothing.

I stared at the almost full moon and thought about the pain I couldn’t avoid. Dad is gone, and I will never spend another Father’s Day, on Earth, with him again.

I wanted to cry, but couldn’t bring myself to do it in front of everyone.

Each year seems to get a little easier. I do have the joy of knowing that Dad is in Heaven waiting for me and that I can still celebrate his life through my life. So, please don’t mistaken my sadness for ungratefulness. I am going through the grieving process.

No guilty verdict, no human justice served will fix this loss. Father’s Day will never be the same.

It is my new normal, and I am learning to embrace it – one step at a time.