I miss my Dad pretty much every single day of my life, and Father's day isn't any different...it hurts no matter the date. Sometimes, the ache hits me so hard that it takes my breath. Snapshots both joyful and heartbreaking take over my thoughts at any given moment of the day. I try to focus on the good, but some of the more terrible moments tend to drag me back to the same feeling I had the first time I lived them. It's interesting how you don't quite understand something until you live through a similar experience...and then once you do you can empathize...and even feel guilty for not being more understanding to those who've gone through it before you.
I used to just look at accidents reported on the news and just turn the channel. Now, I understand that behind that report is a real person...someone's wife, or dad...or niece.
I never really questioned death scenes in movies or how those dying of illness me their final demise. But after watching, standing next to, holding hands with people I love while they drew their last breaths, I get mad at the inaccuracy of the portrayal of these final moments.
On the mornings that I wouldn't have my little ones in the car, after dropping Mom off at the hospital, I would drive home while saying a rosary, and just weep. I longed for my Dad to put his arms around me and assure me that it was going to be OK. Some days I would ask God to heal my Dad. Other days I would ask Him to give me strength to get through what was most certainly inevitable. All I could do was mourn what I knew was going to happen. I truly felt out of control of the situation. Thankfully, I knew that I didn't have to be.
In my mind, I knew that my Dad was going to die. I knew that he had been sent to that final place because his body was breaking down. I baptized him a few days before he left. I wanted to make sure we'd be together again. My heart could feel that my lifelong, first and best friend was leaving me. What I didn't know was that 3 years later, the pain of losing him would still be just as strong as the day he left me. I didn't know that my heart would still be broken. That nothing would fill the void that he left.
I didn't realize what all of those people who had lost their parents felt...and now I do. It's not something that can be fully explained. It's a club that no one wants to be in. It's a terribly lonely place. I wish my Dad was still here. I would trade a lot of things/people for more time with my him. I know that's wrong...I'm not proud of it...but I'd do it in a heartbeat.
I try very hard to fully accept God's Will and I believe He can make something good from any situation...but I still wish I could sit next to my Dad's bed and have conversations about aliens & life on other planets and cooking shows and other stupid things that he & I both enjoyed. I wish that I could feel that unconditional love again. I wish that I didn't resent people for not having to feel the way that I do. He made me feel special and safe and lovable. I was his and he was mine. I feel like an outcast without him. A stranger in what should be a familiar land.
I always thought I was close to my Mom, but since Dad left, I have felt nothing but distance. I have had to convince myself that she didn't just give up on him...that there was nothing that anyone could do. She's very generous and a good person. I truly try to see her good and feel for her like I used to, but for some inexplicable reason, I just can't. I know that I love her, I just can't be what I once was to her and I think she still expects that. It really is unfair to her but I don't know how to change how I feel.
Sometimes, I see my reflection and have to look away. The older I get, the more I look like Dad. Some days I want to punch the mirror. Other days, I'm thankful to see his eyes in mine. I look at my boy and see Dad...in his tenderness and thoughtfulness...and in his little face that I can hold in my hand. I hope that he gets tall like Dad. I miss feeling small. It's nice to think about a piece of him walking the planet long after even I'm gone.
I hope to get to a place in my life that I'll be able to remember nothing but the good things, but this storm seems to continue...for how long? I don't know. There's a Casting Crowns song called "Praise You in this Storm" that I listened to nearly every day before the rosary. It was my release and my armor. I didn't want to turn away from God or get mad like I did when we lost our daughter and our Becca. I knew that I had to lean on Him. So, I prepared myself asking for my Blessed Mother's protection and prayers and thanking my Father for all of the moments that I was able to spend with my Dad. I thanked God for the little miracles that He had given us...for giving Dad his voice back...for allowing him to get off of the ventilator so that he could stay locally at a hospice in his final days...for the energetic Wednesday of conversations and laughing before he never spoke again.
So, even with the pain and the tears, there are so many treasures to ponder and hold in my heart. For all of those, I'm truly and eternally thankful.
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