Father's Day

Father’s Day is a hard day at my house. Other holidays are difficult too, but this one has the audacity to remind my kids of their/our loss in the very name: Father’s Day. This year, made even harder by something said by the neighbor during an altercation yesterday, in front of my son.

For those that don’t know, my husband and the father of my children passed away in 2005, and while our life may not have been perfect, Kevin was a wonderful father, and his kids adored him. We talk a lot about him, we remember silly things, we remember not so silly things, we make sure that we keep him alive and well in our hearts and minds, to help ease the ache made by the loss of his physical presence. It’s not easy, it’ll never be easy, but it’s the hand we were dealt, and the one we do our best to cope with every day.

We all know someone who’s facing this same kind of pain today – one of our bosses here at 451Press recently lost her father too, and it’s not easy. There is no time limit on grief. There is no time limit on how long it hurts. There is no time limit on when you have to stop saying things like: When he died, before he died, he passed away, it still hurts.

If someone looks at you, and has the nerve to say “you time limit for grief is up, move on”, and makes your almost grown son upset enough to cry, it’s ok to call that neighbor an asshat all over the internets and to any real live flesh and blood that will listen. I give you permission – not that you need it, but I give you permission to threaten to rip his arms off and beat him about the head and shoulders with them (only threaten though – your kids/family still needs YOU – don’t risk jail time!).

Most importantly (again not that you need it) – I give you permission to grieve as long as you need too, to hold on to your family, to gather them close and remember all the things that made you smile, made you laugh, even made you frustrated and angry. Remember every second. Talk to you kids – make sure THEY remember ever second, and keep your loved one’s alive.

Those asshats? Someday they’ll understand, and someday, they will appreciate that you didn’t rip their arms off and beat them about the head and shoulders, and someday, karma will take care of what you can’t.

Despite them, you’ll have the memories:
– memories of a son who didn’t know that Oreos had “stuff” in them until he was two, because Daddy always loved the stuff and hated the cookie.
– Memories of a five year old son who – when asked why he bloodied his buddies nose while trying out his new boxing gloves, replied with “he left his nose open!”- saw the look of absolute pride on his father’s face.
– Memories of a one year old daughter in a pink swimsuit, curled up in her daddy’s lap outside, sound asleep while daddy rested the leg he broke three days before.
– Memories of that same daughter screaming with delight as they right the Ferris Wheel that her mama can’t be paid enough to get on.
– Memories of the youngest daughter, chasing her daddy down the hallway with her puppetbear, growling and laughing while the grown man screamed in pretend fear, and that same daughter getting to ride the ‘little kid’ version of the grown up ride all alone with her daddy, because she wasn’t tall enough for the big version with her siblings.
– And so, so, so, so many more…

All the asshats will have is the universe looking to kick them in the ass.

Seems fair to me.

PS: Happy Father’s Day to MY dad, too. You’re the best, and I’m so glad MY kids get you in their life too. Thank you. I love you.