I am really having a hard time looking at boats on the ocean. Granddads at soccer games: rip my heart out. I still can’t walk past the card aisle in the month of June. It’s just too hard. It’s too much of a reminder of the card I can’t buy for you anymore. Today I went through the Dunkin' drive thru, not Dunkin’ Donuts anymore, you would think that was dumb. I ordered a Dunkin’ stick and a cinnamon roll and tried hard to not weird out the server through my tears over pastries. Because that’s what we always got. I got an iced coffee instead of hot chocolate, because I’m 43 now and it’s 90° outside. But I did forget how good the cinnamon roll tasted, which is a good thing, because I cannot imagine how astronomically high the caloric count on this thing is. It was exactly the way I remember it tasting, though, every time I was sitting across the table eating one with you and telling you all about my day, my week, but mostly my heart. Your piercing blue eyes. I can still see them looking deeply into my soul and just knowing all that was deep down in me. No matter what I said or didn’t say, you just knew. And so I’m sitting here on the bench on the eve of Father’s Day and I miss you.
I knew I would be emotional with Emma's graduation because my baby girl is leaving the nest. But I don’t think I anticipated how raw and heartbreaking it would feel to not have you there. Papa‘s punkin. She did it. I put a pink rose by your bench that we had at her party. You always liked to give me pink roses and so I felt that it was appropriate that we had them there for her. She graduated, she looked beautiful, and I know how proud you would be. How proud you’ve always been.
Did I ever explain enneagrams to you? You would humor me and take the test, I’m sure. I’ve re-discovered that I am actually a 6 on the Enneagram. A lot of people including myself have mistaken me as a 2 or a 9, but I really think I am a six. I am a loyalist. And you have been my safest place. And that doesn’t bode well for a loyalist when you lose someone. Especially when that someone is your rock. I miss you more than words. I miss the little things. I miss your laugh until you cry, I miss how wholeheartedly you sing, albeit completely off tune, I really miss picking up the phone to hear you say, “Hey, babe, this is Dad.” I miss how often you would ask me if I want to go fishing and how desperately I wish I had one more trip with you. I miss the way you eat corn on the cob in the summer, the slight Southern drawl you never lost, and especially your hugs, I really miss those. A lot.
I’ve always been someone who has cherished every moment, but no matter how hard I cherished, it hasn’t made you not being here easier. And people saying time heals, nope, not at all. It just hurts more. It hurts hard. I don’t live in regret knowing that we said everything there was to say. I know we both knew, and know, the depths of love you had for all of us, but still what I would give for another day with you. I miss you telling me how beautiful I am and how much you love me and how proud you are of me. I miss being able to dial your number, which I’ll never forget, and tell you about something that the kids did and how you wish they would stop growing up so fast, or simply just to hear your voice to know that everything would be OK when I felt overwhelmed. You understood my joys and my sorrows as much as I did. I miss that.
Ashes. The physical part of you without the soul, our loss back into the earth surrounding me as I sit here. As I walked through trails, I began to think of Isaiah 61 “The Spirit of the Lord is on me . . .to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve . . .to give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness” I began to see the beauty. The way the sun hit the water, the wildflowers climbing through the weeds. The gentle breeze, the smells and sounds of summer, of honeysuckles and frogs in concert. I secretly hoped as I walked that God might hug me and literally I wished to have a deer appear as if it were a sign of you from Him. Though it hadn’t happened, there was enough for me to feel your presence. I felt refreshed and I felt you near me. And then as I was leaving, there she stood in front of me, unafraid and looking right at me. This was your kiss, beauty for ashes. A cherished moment, tears of loss and tears of joy. I left my time with you a little lighter, a lot closer, but still reminded that I hated going home with an uneaten Dunkin’ stick. Happy Father’s Day to the best, for always.
