On grief, on Father’s Day

I miss my dad so much today. I miss my dad for himself, and I miss his love. I miss his “Hi, Sweetie!” when he answered the phone, and I miss the emails he would send with articles that he knew I’d find interesting, or thought I should know about. I miss how he wanted to know what I was writing, what I was teaching, what I was doing next. I miss how much he cared about me, and wanted to do whatever he could to help me find my way in life. I miss his concern. I know how lucky I was to have a father who cared so much.

I wish he was still here. I wish I had another day with him, I wish I had another moment with him. I wish I had another twenty years with him.

This is the fourth father’s day where I can only remember my dad, instead of talking to him. Somehow, the wound still feels so fresh when father’s day rolls around. I feel so sad for my daughter, who doesn’t get to have her grandad in her life; for my baby nephew who will never know his Grandad Paul; for my brother, who can’t see how proud my dad would be, to see the amazing father his son has become.

I know that grief needs to speak, to be heard, in order to do its job. So I am letting it speak today. And then I hope gratitude will rise to the top.

I am grateful that the universe gave me a father who loved me so much, and taught me so much. I am grateful that my daughter has a father who I know will do the same for her. I will try to find that gratitude today, and let it live alongside the grief.

Happy Father’s Day to the wonderful dads in my life, and to all of the dads who are showing up for their kids in a hundred ways, who show their love to them every day. And happy Father’s Day in heaven, Dad.