*Not written to seek sympathy.
I’ll be honest. Father's Day has never been my favorite holiday. I would stand forever in the Hallmark store, fighting tears as I searched for the right card for my dad and always have to settle for a generic card that simply read ‘Happy Fathers Day’. It was overwhelming to read card after card with sentiments for dads who spent time with their kids or taught them things or were loving examples that they wanted to emulate.
I’ll be honest. Father's Day has never been my favorite holiday. I would stand forever in the Hallmark store, fighting tears as I searched for the right card for my dad and always have to settle for a generic card that simply read ‘Happy Fathers Day’. It was overwhelming to read card after card with sentiments for dads who spent time with their kids or taught them things or were loving examples that they wanted to emulate.
I can say that my dad did work hard to provide for our family and I don't remember ever having to go without. And I have a handful of moments that are sacred and precious memories of my dad: a memory of a kiss on my cheek where his beard scraped my skin when I was home sick with a fever, a single time he took me out to a diner as a child for a meal when I had to be picked up early from school which was so special and significant to me as a child I can still remember what I was wearing, jeans with green piping along the sides (is that why my favorite color is green?), and a moment when my younger brother and I were fighting when he made us stop and told us, with the only time I ever remember seeing tears in his eyes, to not turn out like he and his brother did that didn’t speak to each other anymore.
He could be a funny man with a quick wit that we were able to see around other people on occasion, even though he didn’t share it with us very often. He could also be a hard man and he was definitely an intimidating man. My brothers and I could tell you a million stories but we won’t unless we are very close to you, because our home motto was pretty much stolen from us by Las Vegas somehow: “What happens at home, stays at home”. Just suffice it to say, whatever negative things I do share with you today, is minimal compared to what every day life was like, and there are scars that you can't see that we'll probably always carry with us.
My dad passed away this year. I hadn’t called him in a year and a half. Not because I wasn’t speaking to him, but because it was literally traumatic for me to call him. I would have to psyche myself up for days in advance before I could dial his number. Then in the moment when I was finally ready I would take a deep breath, my heart pounding in my ears and hear his voice over the phone.
The same voice that had yelled at me on our family vacation as he stood on our tiny travel trailer steps looking down at his 9 year old daughter spitting the words out furiously “I know what you’re thinking! F*** DADDY! F*** DADDY!!”, when it was absolutely nothing at all near what I was thinking. The same voice that told me he’d rather go to a funeral than my wedding when I was 15 years old and one of the few times that I stood up and walked away from him and out of the house and down the street to try and distance myself from the rejection I felt from his words that cut like knives, just like the broken skin I left in my hands from my fingernails piercing my skin to distract myself from the pain of his words. The same voice that screamed curses at me about my angel of a mother over the phone after she finally did what she should have done years and years and YEARS before she did, when she finally filed for divorce. The same voice that raged curses at me for ten minutes on a Father’s Day only a few years before, when I had gotten up the guts to call him on a Sunday morning on the way to lead worship at church with my husband and kids in the car after not being able to bring myself to call him for several months.
Although our occasional conversations towards the end of his life did become a bit more bearable, I always expected to hear the harsh voice I was accustomed to and after our two to three minute awkward conversations we would say goodbye, I would hang up the phone and cry. And cry. And cry.
He told me more than once over the years that it’s the child’s responsibility to call the parent. And so he very rarely called me, as I owed it to him to be the attentive one in our relationship. I always felt it should be a two-way street. So one day I decided not to call and I stopped putting myself through days of anxiety and fear and decided to live in peace. And if he wanted to call me, then he could call me and if not then he wouldn’t. - He didn’t.
We knew his health was declining and my older brothers worked diligently the last couple of years to care well for the man that never seemed to care very much for us. They gave their time, their energy and their patience caring for him. I wondered if I would regret not calling him after he passed away and this may sound terrible, but I don’t. The decision I made gave me a lot of peace over the last 2 years. I still loved my dad. I still cared about him and what happened to him and if I was able to, I would have been there right beside my brothers helping them take care of him, but other than that, I don’t have any regrets.
After he died, I was sad and a little emotional but coming from one who has experienced a lot of loss and a lot of grief, I sat on the side of my bed the day he died and wondered why the loss wasn’t as heavy as I thought it would be. That’s when I realized I had been grieving the loss of my father for close to 30 years. I had already gone through an extremely long mourning period for him, albeit mostly while he was still living.
The absence of my father in my life over the years was difficult and probably one of the most definitive influences that shaped who I was and who I became. I learned to lean heavily on my Heavenly Father who was always there for me in every moment. He was the Father I needed when I felt fatherless. He was my strength and my encourager, He taught me to be brave and strong, He made me feel loved and treasured. But even though I knew I was not alone, Father's Day was still difficult every year, because I longed for my dad to be my father in ways he was not, or maybe could not.
The absence of my father in my life over the years was difficult and probably one of the most definitive influences that shaped who I was and who I became. I learned to lean heavily on my Heavenly Father who was always there for me in every moment. He was the Father I needed when I felt fatherless. He was my strength and my encourager, He taught me to be brave and strong, He made me feel loved and treasured. But even though I knew I was not alone, Father's Day was still difficult every year, because I longed for my dad to be my father in ways he was not, or maybe could not.
I know my dad had his struggles like any person and I believe that there must be a lot of unknowns to me that went into making him who he was, how he was. I think his dissatisfaction and unhappiness with himself or life or I don't even know what all he dealt with likely consumed him and spilled over onto us. I don't think that the person he became was completely his fault, but I don't think he knew how to change and grow. He had little moments where he tried. I remember. I do.
When I married Donnie and we had children, I received a gift I never expected. Father's Day became special again. Donnie was the father to our children that I always wished I'd had in my dad. He couldn't hold them close enough, he couldn't give them enough hugs and kisses, he couldn't praise them enough with his words. He loved their different personalities and he got a kick out of their quirks and passions. They would walk into the room and his face would go from creased with worry or pain to happy with absolute joy at being in their presence.
He was protective and sheltering, he carried them when they were tired or sick, he laid in bed with them at night to help them fall asleep when they needed him or were scared. He disciplined them fairly and taught them right from wrong with sternness and was forgiving and gave them unconditional love. He loved to spoil them and give them everything they wanted and celebrated them at every opportunity. He showed his love big in every way that was possible and showed his love quietly when he would hold hands with them or snuggle on the sofa.
It was easy to celebrate Father's Day with him, for him. I gave him a card one Father's Day, several years after we'd had Kellan and Emmi. In that card I thanked him for how he loved his children and told him how he had redeemed Father's Day for me. He was a physical reminder for me of God's love to his children, to me.
When I woke this morning, I looked over facebook briefly and saw the love pouring out from everyone to their fathers. It's beautiful. But I know there are people out there like me who may not have had a trophy winning dad or mom, and who didn't expect perfection but maybe just wanted to feel loved and my heart goes out to them. Or someone who may have lost their dad like my children and my heart cries out for them.
I guess I just want anyone who may be hurting to know that you're not forgotten. And maybe I'm not a male, I'm not a dad, but I have always had a heart for the broken and the forgotten and I know a Heavenly Father who does too. You're not alone. You're not abandoned. You're not rejected. And you're not forgotten. I hope you know that today.
When I married Donnie and we had children, I received a gift I never expected. Father's Day became special again. Donnie was the father to our children that I always wished I'd had in my dad. He couldn't hold them close enough, he couldn't give them enough hugs and kisses, he couldn't praise them enough with his words. He loved their different personalities and he got a kick out of their quirks and passions. They would walk into the room and his face would go from creased with worry or pain to happy with absolute joy at being in their presence.
He was protective and sheltering, he carried them when they were tired or sick, he laid in bed with them at night to help them fall asleep when they needed him or were scared. He disciplined them fairly and taught them right from wrong with sternness and was forgiving and gave them unconditional love. He loved to spoil them and give them everything they wanted and celebrated them at every opportunity. He showed his love big in every way that was possible and showed his love quietly when he would hold hands with them or snuggle on the sofa.
It was easy to celebrate Father's Day with him, for him. I gave him a card one Father's Day, several years after we'd had Kellan and Emmi. In that card I thanked him for how he loved his children and told him how he had redeemed Father's Day for me. He was a physical reminder for me of God's love to his children, to me.
When I woke this morning, I looked over facebook briefly and saw the love pouring out from everyone to their fathers. It's beautiful. But I know there are people out there like me who may not have had a trophy winning dad or mom, and who didn't expect perfection but maybe just wanted to feel loved and my heart goes out to them. Or someone who may have lost their dad like my children and my heart cries out for them.
I guess I just want anyone who may be hurting to know that you're not forgotten. And maybe I'm not a male, I'm not a dad, but I have always had a heart for the broken and the forgotten and I know a Heavenly Father who does too. You're not alone. You're not abandoned. You're not rejected. And you're not forgotten. I hope you know that today.
