It’s taken me a few days to organize my thoughts about Father’s Day. One thing I’ve learned about grief…there are times to share it in order to heal and let your tribe carry you. And there are times to be still in it and just….remember.
For those of you who don’t know my story – my mother is on husband number five if you count the one she married twice. My dad said peace out the first time when I was about a year old and permanently when I was around eleven. To be fair he is an addict and he can’t handle life let alone my mother or a kid who was born with a birth defect and needed constant medical attention from birth until age 18. No idea where he is but the last time I looked he was doing a stint as a guest of the state if you know what I mean.
My mother is a peach when it comes to men. “Father” #2/3 was abusive. In all forms of the word. When we finally got away from him it was straight into the home of “Father” #4. An improvement from the previous one save for the fact he was emotionally abusive. He only wanted my mom…us kids with our assorted problems were baggage. Blessedly I don’t know hubby #5 and never will, I’ve cut that tie, but I’ve heard he’s more of the same. How I wound up with the angel I married and the one I now live with is only by the grace of God. Certainly not by example!
I digress. My point with all that is that my PawPaw was the only constant positive father figure in my life. When my mother couldn’t handle my medical issues she would dump me at my grandparents for them to take me to doctors appointments, care for me, etc. Mom and PawPaw were the epitome of what home life for a kid should have been like! Summer church camp when they could convince my mom to let me go, camping at the lake with their friend group, favorite stories, all of it. When I found out Em was coming I was more afraid of letting down PawPaw than anyone…and he didn’t miss a beat. He used to take me out to hunt for Sesame Street baby stuff for her when I decided that was the theme for her nursery.
He’s been gone nine years now. There are still days I just want to call him and ask him how I do something. Fix something. What he thinks about something. As I get older more and more of the people around me are in the same boat my heart hurts for all of us but it somehow makes it easier.
There is no escaping the pain of knowing my kids pain on Father’s Day though. They are too young to have to bear that hurt. Too young to have to have all those painful moments where they just want their dad and he’s not there. Fred should be here for all the ways their lives are changing. For the young adults they have turned into. To give them the guidance that only a dad can give. See one thing I’ve learned as I get older is once they cross that adult line moms and dads have more clearly defined roles than they did when it was just snot and diapers. They can’t fill in for each other.
Some of the things my kids have told me that Fred had to say when I was out of earshot make me shake my head. One because I can see him being that mischievous and two because they go directly against some of our parenting philosophies. But Fred wasn’t as overprotective as I was/am. Because of the things I survived as a kid I knew how ugly the world is and wanted to hold on so so tight. He knew they needed wings. That’s the biggest thing I wish he and they hadn’t missed…
But you can spend your life in a constant state of missing the past and filled with regret or you can be thankful for what you had and cherish the memories. I think my point in all this is that this Father’s Day, while I hurt as much as I always do, I also just chose to remember them. The way they cut up together. Made me laugh. Protected me and loved me no matter what. Neither ever judged me for all the ways I know now that I was broken and flawed. Neither ever ever told me I was doing it wrong – life, parenting, anything. They just loved me. And that is worth honoring their memories and just remembering them. PawPaw as the father he was to me and Fred as the father he was to my children.
Blessings y’all – Amy
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