for some reason i cannot figure out how to share the original blog but it was so perfect for me and my feelings I copied it…
by Becca on June 11, 2013
Father’s Day has really sucked lately.
The first one after he passed was so acutely painful that I spent the entire day tightly wound up in an inconsolable ball of hate, determined to avoid with every fibre of my being television, restaurants that served brunch, department stores that carried power tools, other humans, and that depressingly horrific online doodad, social media.
Does it infuriate anyone else when people tweet “Happy Father’s Day, dad” to a dad who doesn’t even have Twitter? I digress.
I also endeavoured to steer clear of all public places—sports stadiums, golf courses and parks–which I imagined were all chock-a-block full of family BBQs and bustling picnics, celebrating dads young and old.
I did my best to drown out memories, too—like the time he taught me how to throw a curve ball, play Greensleeves on the organ, BBQ a steak, and patiently sit in the passenger’s seat while I meandered around a deserted parking lot, working up the courage to actually give the road a try.
Who knew you’re supposed to use only ONE foot for the gas and brake?
In essence, Father’s Day was as dead to me as he was. There was no place inside this holiday for me anymore—a fatherless, childless twenty-something. Even if there was, I didn’t want any part of it. I didn’t want to be reminded of a man I could no longer celebrate.
And then it occurred to me.
I needed to stop avoiding every Hallmark holiday just because they made me sad.
I needed to understand that I wasn’t weak, nor was I pathetic for being a god damn human being and missing the hell out of my dad sometimes.
But most of all, until I felt that loss—I mean really felt it—and until I stopped hiding and swallowing the pain, I knew I’d always be stuck in that awful place, where the rules inexplicably decreed that just because he was gone, he couldn’t be celebrated and I couldn’t move on.
Who the hell made those rules, anyway?
So I faced it.
After too long a time, I even accepted it.
And I let the tears come.
God I miss you. Are you really gone? Is this my life now? It sucks that it has to go on without you, but this really is my life now.
So if Father’s Day sucks for you too, and you need to spend this year wallowing in inexorable rage while repeatedly punching your pillow, by all means–you have my blessing.
But don’t punch pillows forever.
If you’re feeling tough enough, sit through a commercial this Sunday. Embrace the tweets. Like a Facebook comment or two. Smile at the young family celebrating their first Father’s Day in the park–feel joy for them.
And remember the good times.
Look through old photos. Watch home movies. Read e-mails and letters. Reminisce with family, friends, and those who knew and loved him most. Hell, curl up in a ball and cry on the floor of your basement at the end of the day when everyone is asleep. No one has to know. It’s fine. No really, it’s totally cool.
And once you’re tired of crying, tired of being angry and feeling brave for a moment in the day, look ahead. Maybe one day, you’ll find that you fit in again. Maybe one day, in the not-too-distant future, you’ll accept your own first Father’s Day card, or watch your little one’s dad accept his.
Honour him by believing it will have meaning again.
And then actually believe it.
Happy Father’s Day, dad.