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Jun. 16th, 2019 08:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bluealoeWhy does Father's Day happen every year?
It just feels so unfair, that everyone else gets to celebrate their fathers, and my dad isn't here. Part of me wants to yell, "My dad's not here, so none of you get to have Father's Day!" I know that's pretty much the same thing as saying "I'm not having fun, so no one else gets to have fun either." I should be happy that there are fathers and children who get to appreciate and celebrate each other. That there is so much love in the world. And most of the time, I am happy about that. I don't want anyone to go through the pain of a parent's death. I wouldn't wish that on anyone.
But this one day out of the year.....I turn into a grumpy ball of anger and I rage at the world.
In all the commercialization and celebration of the holiday, I just want someone out there to acknowledge that for some people, Father's Day isn't a happy occasion. That many people don't have their fathers present anymore. That others have less-than-ideal relationships with their fathers, or may not even know them.
Holidays can be joyous, but they're also painful.
I was reading PostSecret last night, and saw this secret. [It reads "My greatest regret will always be not Skyping you the night before you died. I'm so sorry, Dad."] When I saw the image I couldn't tear my eyes away. It's my thoughts, in someone else's handwriting. For me, it wasn't Skype, but I meant to call him. Every day that week, I meant to call him. And I kept putting it off. It could wait until tomorrow. And then there was no tomorrow. I missed my chance.
The last time I spoke to my dad, it was Father's Day. I had just gotten back from a trip, I was jetlagged and irritable, and I didn't want to talk. I cut the conversation short.
I will regret that until the end of my life.
My mom, my husband, my sister, my counselor, my friends...they've all told me not to beat myself up about it. That I did call him, and he was happy to hear from me. That I had no way of knowing what would happen later that week. I did the best I could.
I believe them. I know they're right. But nothing will ever make the regret go away.
There's been a lot on my mind lately. There's so many things going on in life that I need to deal with, that take a lot of mental energy. I don't need to deal with grief, yet again. But it's always there, a silent shadow accompanying me where ever I go. I've learned to deal with it, to dull the pain and live in this altered world. But on the third Sunday of June every year, the grief and regret rears its ugly head and starts screaming.
I'll be okay. Every year it comes and goes, and I keep on living my life. By now, I know how to live in this world without my father. And there are a lot of very good things in my life. Every day is fulled with love and fulfillment and little moments of joy. But there will always be that empty part of me, wanting desperately to pick up the phone and hear his voice on the other end of the line. Wanting to hug him as hard as possible and never ever ever ever let go.
So this evening I sit and I remember and I regret and I grieve. And tomorrow I'll wake up, feed the cat, go to work, and keep on building my life.
None of this makes a good inspirational speech. It's not a stirring tale of overcoming adversity. It'll never been featured on a cheesy poster hanging in a classroom. But that's the reality of living with loss. It's messy and confusing and complicated and it isn't a straight line. But we continue.
And in the end, that's all we can do.
It just feels so unfair, that everyone else gets to celebrate their fathers, and my dad isn't here. Part of me wants to yell, "My dad's not here, so none of you get to have Father's Day!" I know that's pretty much the same thing as saying "I'm not having fun, so no one else gets to have fun either." I should be happy that there are fathers and children who get to appreciate and celebrate each other. That there is so much love in the world. And most of the time, I am happy about that. I don't want anyone to go through the pain of a parent's death. I wouldn't wish that on anyone.
But this one day out of the year.....I turn into a grumpy ball of anger and I rage at the world.
In all the commercialization and celebration of the holiday, I just want someone out there to acknowledge that for some people, Father's Day isn't a happy occasion. That many people don't have their fathers present anymore. That others have less-than-ideal relationships with their fathers, or may not even know them.
Holidays can be joyous, but they're also painful.
I was reading PostSecret last night, and saw this secret. [It reads "My greatest regret will always be not Skyping you the night before you died. I'm so sorry, Dad."] When I saw the image I couldn't tear my eyes away. It's my thoughts, in someone else's handwriting. For me, it wasn't Skype, but I meant to call him. Every day that week, I meant to call him. And I kept putting it off. It could wait until tomorrow. And then there was no tomorrow. I missed my chance.
The last time I spoke to my dad, it was Father's Day. I had just gotten back from a trip, I was jetlagged and irritable, and I didn't want to talk. I cut the conversation short.
I will regret that until the end of my life.
My mom, my husband, my sister, my counselor, my friends...they've all told me not to beat myself up about it. That I did call him, and he was happy to hear from me. That I had no way of knowing what would happen later that week. I did the best I could.
I believe them. I know they're right. But nothing will ever make the regret go away.
There's been a lot on my mind lately. There's so many things going on in life that I need to deal with, that take a lot of mental energy. I don't need to deal with grief, yet again. But it's always there, a silent shadow accompanying me where ever I go. I've learned to deal with it, to dull the pain and live in this altered world. But on the third Sunday of June every year, the grief and regret rears its ugly head and starts screaming.
I'll be okay. Every year it comes and goes, and I keep on living my life. By now, I know how to live in this world without my father. And there are a lot of very good things in my life. Every day is fulled with love and fulfillment and little moments of joy. But there will always be that empty part of me, wanting desperately to pick up the phone and hear his voice on the other end of the line. Wanting to hug him as hard as possible and never ever ever ever let go.
So this evening I sit and I remember and I regret and I grieve. And tomorrow I'll wake up, feed the cat, go to work, and keep on building my life.
None of this makes a good inspirational speech. It's not a stirring tale of overcoming adversity. It'll never been featured on a cheesy poster hanging in a classroom. But that's the reality of living with loss. It's messy and confusing and complicated and it isn't a straight line. But we continue.
And in the end, that's all we can do.
